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Coming To Copenhagen 1974
Dalya argued in harsh whispers
with the Yank girl in the back of
the mini bus. Don't want to know
about who you've spread your
skinny thighs for. Benny couldn't
focus on Solzhenitsyn's book on
the labour camps and for whom
her legs were spread. He closed
the depressing book with its red
cover and Solzhenitsyn's gaze
looking at him. Yank Girl, reddening
muttered: just chitchat in confidence,
not for all and sundry. We're coming
into Copenhagen, the driver/guide said.
Yank Girl looked daggers at Dalya,
then gazed out a window. Dalya wiped
spittle from her lips and wiped her hand
on her jeans. Benny wondered who it
was that lay between her thin thighs.
Not him; may be the guide or bearded
Aussie or the school teacher with
the red ears. Dalya sat back and
held his hand. Her fingers entwined
with his, skin on soft skin. Last night
she spread her wings and he was in.
Benny outside Copenhagen in 1974
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