The small ray of sunlight through grey rain clouds bites his eyes in the vacant space of the diner outside the motel. 

Majestic mountains completes the picture along the highway.   Mr Kane translates a poem from someone he knows well. Plagiarizing the Afrikaans words shamelessly:

 

Breakfast

The sounds of fish
and meat spread
beat up the dark

over orange juice
that chokes the throat
and self-conscious


with cold knife pealing butter
The golden sun rays breaking, wasted

The smell of the oil and egg sticks
nauseating
to my sleeve to shirt to jacket…

But your lashes droop down
when your questions searching my eyes
find your eyes in the strange world
of the morning after.

 

His mind is numb, senses sated, emotions quenched for now. Cannot think a quirky thing to say,  but the polite, bleary eyed gentleman offers her a lift home..He hits road over the mountain....Kris Kristofferson fills in.

Otto enjoys the baudy detail.

 

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