the smuggler’s bible

Cohen

The evening is going so well. The chairs are comfortable and there is a tray sweeping around the room covered in fluted glasses that sparkle charmingly under the soft lights. The tablecloth is perfect. Best of all, nobody seems to have noticed Cohen yet.

He leans back and lets his guard down.

“So, what do you do?” the woman on his left says. She turns to him. Everybody turns to him. All conversation ceases.

“Wait, uhm, Is this,” he tries to sit up. Strong hands pin his shoulders.

“It’s been three years, Cohen. You’ve got to break the ice sometime.”