Flash Fiction for Friday Fictioneers, https://fresh.inlinkz.com/party/5caf3cef9d814e28babc281a38c8590d
Ice Cream in Tel Aviv-Yafo
‘Let’s have an ice cream,’ Carolyn said, ‘and stop talking politics.’
We were here to visit her grandmother and not to solve the Middle East’s problems.
Having refused my money, she sold her Breitling to pay for our flights, but I insisted on booking the best hotel.
She wasn’t pleased and mumbled something about expenses.
Next morning, she disappeared for the day. Where?
That evening she burst into the hotel room.
‘Get packing, we are leaving. Now!’
‘What?’
Her clothes were dirty with a smell of gun oil; a fresh gash on her head.
‘Now!’
We dashed to the airport.
James McEwan 