Three days later, I waited as the sun sank beneath the snow-bound horizon, and Rose never came. Shit, I thought. xxx Where she lay was a note: “I had to leave, Peter. I repeated the movements, gradually increasing in pace until we were fucking like animals, desperately, passionately. I told her about my life – which didn’t take long – and my job. “And hell, it’s cheaper than sitting here, getting drunk.” She laughed at me, but not unpleasantly. The next night we went riding again, this time out into the Tundra, the Russian wilderness that can be as desolate, some say, as the moon. I know a couple of things about engines…” I said, shrugging my shoulders. It’s so greasy you wouldn’t see anything if it held up a neon sign.
