While I grab a taxi I'm still fascinated: not a paparazzi in sight.
On the other hand, I don't know why I still expect them, so far they have never shown up.
I take a sip from my flask with Madeira and tell the cabbie to drive slow. He nods, and accelerates like a racecar driver. The car smells of leather and old perfume. Outside the night is dark as water.
I wonder if grannies attorney will await me @ the hotel?
Then my cell beeps.
1 new message. Grannies attorney. Poor guy. Relatives must REALLY be bothering him.