Trafika Europe 5 - Slovenian Interlude

6. The Crossover

Kaan stood on the rocks in the rain, the choppy waters of the Aegean spraying his shoes. In the West, a purple shadow rose like a Promised Land behind the mist: Lesvos. He closed his eyes and inhaled the smell of salt. He had always wanted to be a sailor, but look where he ended up. He opened his eyes again and stared into the ominous sky. The wind was picking up. Slowly, he made his way to the waterfront. The glass door of Sailor’s Hut was imprinted with years of salt marks. He pushed it open and stepped into the fishy air and loud chatter. The old man behind the bar greeted him with a yellow smile. Kaan ordered a pint of lager that came in a frosty glass mug. He took an ice-cold sip. He would have asked for whiskey but preferred to blend in with the rough crowd. He turned to the door when he heard it open. There he was, the middle-man. They acknowledged each other with a slight nod. The man walked towards the bar in a few quick strides, unzipping his black leather jacket.

“Beer?” Kaan asked.

The man nodded again.

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