Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

An Instinctive Feeling of Innocence

me to, and so I’d had to linger a bit in the drafty Macca- Villacrosse arcade. I leave it at that. At the police precinct my uniform is wrinkled and the makeup that usually gives me the look of a cheerful stewardess is all smudged. It’s no wonder the officers aren’t misled by my first name, Victoria, which often leads people to think I’m part of the post-Communist generation and therefore presume I’m ten years younger. My tiff with the young security guard is harmless. “Where’s the animal-rights group’s donation box?” “Back there, in the storeroom,” he says without turning. “It’s supposed to be in the entrance hall.” “The boss moved it.” “But it wasn’t there during the day, either.” He turns, slightly amused, and suddenly it was clear I’d

just lost a touch of respect. “It was in the storeroom.” “In the storeroom?”

I grin back at him. He reminds me of someone, and it’s not an unpleasant reminder. If I took a step toward him, we’d fall on top of one another. “But it has to stay in the entrance hall, otherwise nobody

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