the smuggler’s bible

Alvar

Alvar stays for a week on Marcin’s couch. He spends the days watching the leaves change in the sweet, chill air. At night, they drink beer and play video games.

“Maybe they’re done looking by now.”

“Maybe,” Alvar allows. “Maybe not.”

“Well, how long until you’re clear, do you think?”

Alvar goes into the kitchen and grabs another pair of bottles from the fridge. He stops by the window and listens. He thinks he can hear a helicopter droning far off over the woods. But it might be nothing.

“Hard to be sure,” he says. “Could be a while, yet.”