Freedom was an all-night road trip wheeling ever closer to forgetting who you were. Knowing and forgetting were roughly the same thing, given the right kind of morning showed up. Some mornings smelt better than others. Zdravko stared close to the window, leaning into the dark. Maybe the Opel knew where this was going. Maybe Rusim. It was a seven or eight hour drive to Istanbul.
At Plovdiv, Zdravko took over the wheel. There was only so many vodkas a man could drink. Rusim let it go at that and didn’t wake up till the border.
