Death In The Clouds

“So, it’s great to meet you – finally,” I say. I’ve been chatting to this chap for months and yet this is the first time we’ve managed to meet. We’re sitting outside my pub.
“I’ve been away a lot,” he says. “Greece, Florida, Prague: I love to travel. Don’t you?”
“Um, I can’t really,” I say – because I’m too ill of – course – and I have to keep going to hospital for scans. Although I can’t say this. Coming up with something, I explain that “I write, so, you know, I have to spend a lot of time staring into space – thinking and…”
“Aren’t you meant to get experiences – for inspiration?” He says, looking at me. He’s very attractive: big blue eyes, golden tan, high cheekbones, lots of dark hair. He’s Hungarian. Doesn’t have a very strong accent but he has a reserved way about him – like my Hungarian ex-boyfriend from a while ago.
“So, um, where does your helicopter live?” I say.
He smiles. “Florida. It’s about half the price to learn to fly there, and, of course you need clear blue skies. That’s why it’s more difficult to fly here – it’s always overcast. All those clouds and…”
“You wouldn’t want to live in Florida though would you?” I say. “Oh look: there’s a robin.” He’s sitting on the back of a chair – head cocked, beady eyes appraising us.
“You love animals, don’t you?” He says, smiling at me.
“Yes, of course. Look how close to us he’s sitting,” I say. The robin hops along the back of the chair.

The date is disappointing. It’s a shame: we’ve had some great chats over What’s App over the last few months. In the flesh, however, he just doesn’t seem to like me. Ah well, I think. At least we met in the end…

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