It was cold. Not bitter, actually a refreshing change.
The flat plain laid out in front of him, neither forbidding nor actually of any interest. It would be hot, but he could handle that. At least the crowd has dispersed. Much easier without that.
And so he stroked his mustache unconsciously, thinking hard, while starting to drive his diesel Volvo, navigating his way forward without many thoughts of what was to come. He had more than enough to occupy him already.
But the thoughts of her kept creeping in anyway; it was unavoidable. The woman from Jerusalem would never completely leave his mind.
Even after what had happened in Beirut.
"Tom" she said, " Tom. You don't understand the world anymore. You don't understand me."
Without acknowledging her, he had walked off.
Now he drove.