Having an odd mind that makes odd connections, I decided it
would make a good piece of cryptic dialogue in an espionage thriller. You know,
when the spy has to meet his contact from the other side and needs to be sure
that the man standing in the misty glow of a weak street lamp wearing a heavy
overcoat and a fur hat really is Boris the double agent and not some KGB lackey
collecting passengers for the Siberian cattle train.
The man in the trench coat and homburg steps silently out of
the shadows and makes his way through a mist thick enough to swim in.
‘Good evening, my good man.’
‘Greetings, comrade.’
‘The wasps are drinking a lot of water this year.’
‘Yes, but the bees are humming a different note.’
‘Café Raskolnikov. 9 o’clock. And bring the girl.’
‘Girl? What girl?’
‘I dunno. There’s always a girl.’
‘But I don’t know any girls.’
‘None at all?’
‘No. I could bring my mother. She smells a bit, but she has
a good heart. Or there's my special friend Igor...’
The scene is suddenly brightened by the light of an upstairs
window, and just as suddenly the street is deserted.
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