Misty eyed, we hug each other ferociously, the crowd milling around us at the entrance to Bond Street station, doubtlessly annoyed by the detour caused by our sentimentality. The Feckless German Traitor en route to her last hair cut in London for a couple of years, puffs on her third cigarette in as many minutes. I still can't believe that come Monday, she won't be in at work, depleting my Brazil nuts with impunity. The Friggin' Domestic Goddess had better bring in cake when she's back from holiday... but then again, it won't be nearly as much not to be able to bitch about the psycho FDG without the FGT.
This is the best and worst of this city. Those you meet. Unlikely cultures, shared laughter, strange cohorts; a fondness that grows like an insidious fungus. Those that you will miss most are the ones you will have to say goodbye to soonest....
I'm going to miss her.
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