Alexei taps the ash off his cigarette, takes another drag and looks out the window over the kitchen sink. This was not where he imagined being, not here, not now. Not ever.
Suburbia. At best.
So dull compared to the lights and glare of the city, the steady hum of electricity in the wires and the air, and coursing through the women’s veins.
Ahhh. He misses them the most. He takes another long drag and exhales a shivering ring of smoke. The city’s women are like her buildings—varied, shapely, and with many levels to explore.
Here he struggles to find any women who can fathom his depths. Too often they dismiss him, hearing the strong purr of the Russian accent that still peppers his speech even though he’s only stepped onto Mother Russia’s soil once.He is pinned between two worlds, a most uncomfortable position to hold. Between a rock and a hard place. Born in the USA, but with a Russian heart—Russian blood pumping through him, he is never quite content. Duty bound, yes. But even that chafes the spirit…