Light came in through the windows and rested upon the tiny coachcar bedside table. Left out overnight, was a wallet, a passport, and a rolled up bag of tobacco and foreign herbs. The herbs were for pain and relaxation, he used them for meditation. The nature of his meditation consisted of a couple of snorts, aromathearapy mixed with the rush of confidence to his head. He took it with hot tea and showered afterwards.
He traveled alone and with little personal property. A medium sized dufflebag with a change of clothes, tioletries, and his drawing things. He scribbled so as not to waste his passing time and he seemed to be doing it with more ease and confidence. Drawing now was more of a pleasure than a process. He hadn't drawn last night, hadn't meditated, and was now consumed by the vivid blue and white that were now a part of his surreal visions of memory, creative interpretations of a download of his days before the fact.
Right now he was dreaming about his childhood home and a car accident that involved the loss of his two back teeth. But just as he bit down to taste the blood and feel the pain a bell sounded in the hall outside his door predicting a small humble knock given by the indian girl who was the cabin's stewardess. Still tasting a clear blue metallic bitterness he groaned an attempt at "Come inside" and held out his hands a second later when the young girl handed him a small china cup and saucer filled with sugar and cream. When he had the cup in his hand and his eyes fully awake steam poured from the cup as the conflict of cool china met searing hot tea. The girl sat the china on the table and quietly disappeared inside the hall.
He was the kind of guy that allowed a single five minus minutes in which he was less than conscious allow him to speculate what she looked like without her uniform, and what her lips would tastelike without their brown lipstick.
She was the same kind of girl that would notice his confident and curious attraction, that would see his eyes looking directly at her mouth while she focused on pouring his tea.
He did not notice her trembling hands, had he, he might have asked for breakfast cake.
She might have obliged.
The day might have ended with explosions having to do with chemistry.
He drank his tea and wrote a letter for the rest of the afternoon.
That evening he went to smoke and drink while she made up his sheets. On his way back he met her in the hallway and breifly caught her eyes before she positioned them to study the orange carpet with need. After she brushed passed him he looked after her. She didn't turn around. He knew she wouldn't.