Deep Black
“Jerry sat next to me, his right leg sticking out into the aisle because I’d taken up too much room. I was knackered and wanted to lean against the window as I listened to Now That’s What I Call Mosque 57 playing on the tape-machine. The driver bopped away in time with the music as he spun the wheel with his elbows. I could just hear the rotors of two Blackhawks; I turned my head and watched them hover the last few feet before hitting the pan alongside about another eight of the dull green thing...s. My hands, knees and elbows were scabbing up nicely after my tour of Baghdad’s back alleys, and in a few days, I knew, I’d have a hard time trying to resist picking them. Jerry hadn’t said much since we left the al-Hamra. That was OK, I needed time to think. The bus was full of self-important businessmen checking their mobiles as they roamed for the new signal, and others holding their diplomatic passports firmly in their hands like some sort of talisman. I never knew why, but the people who have one always think it gives them better protection than body armour.MoreLess
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