“Can I confess something?” asked Kika.

Kika was always confessing things. 

“Do!”

“But promise you won’t tell anyone.”

“I promise,” I said and told a big fat lie. I am telling you, aren’t I?   

“You know, sometimes...” she began with a smile. I thought she looked a bit embarrassed.

“Sometimes I feel like … Well, I don’t know how say this, I don’t want you to think I’m crazy. Hmm… I sometimes feel like …hmm… well, that, you know, I’d do it right in the middle of the street, in the middle of something, with people watching, if you know what I mean. Do you understand?”

I looked at her. I had a dreadful hangover. Never had one this bad before. Dry mouth, a washing machine turning in my head, thousands of hard-working little moles in my stomach. And thirst, such a terrible thirst. I felt breathless following her along those hot streets where she wanted to do it, hmm.