The secret agent and the switch bitch

Some things are just black and white, and maybe this is one of them...

The nameless secret agent called the X-ray dog was speeding along in his car that didn’t have a sail when he spotted a girl in a long grey coat who looked to be his type and was hitch-hiking with her thumb out. So with no regrets at all he pulled over and leaning across the seats opened the door for her.

An hour later she still hadn’t said a word except to say that her name was switch bitch, and just stared through the window of her soul into the pouring rain as if transfixed that way by some heavy spell, but no worries, it was a good night to just be.

Three weeks later and they’d reached the mountains, and still although nothing much had been said between them, on her part anyway, they made a good team in the small things of daily living.

The car on the other hand was spluttering a blue streak and ready to give up the ghost of all its heavenly glory and lay down forever in the long grasses of any dream that would have it.

Between two passes at the very top the car gave a last cough and coasted to a halt outside of the Inn at the top of the world, a B&B for the discerning traveller where a good sleep will see you up early and yawning with the gods.

A short while later they were both fast asleep in the only bed in the only room available in the Inn at the top of the world where the gods are always yawning.

Down below in the retail commodities market, stocks were going up and down mysteriously in the index quotient of the banks that was not so steady on second glance but gave off the impression of a volatile football team praying to the religious gods for salvation but receiving only political verbiage for their troubles, while the newspapers screamed death from the mad bomber who was famous by now with all the coverage and had ten sons by five virgins and a machine gun in a box under the stairs called ice-mice.

None of this made any difference to the two asleep up in the mountains with the gods looking down and yawning and encouraging them to wake up and join them to watch the sun rise.

After breakfast and with the bill paid they sat in the car and released the hand brake.

As the car began to pick up speed coasting down the long hill at the top of the mountain that was a hundred miles to the next town so far below, the couple sat back and stared out of their windows.

Fifty miles later the brakes wore out and the car with nothing to stop it broke the sound barrier as it passed through the town at the bottom and right out the other side to fly up the next mountain to the top where the couple hopped out to catch their breath and shove a rock under the wheel to stop the car rolling down the other side.

A small bucket of cement called mumble-weed that had gone hard years ago and was lying abandoned beside the road watched the couple without a word and didn’t really care much either way about anything these days so that when the couple jumped back in their car to roll off down the mountain hill it went back to staring at the sky and all the passing clouds that didn’t care much either about what went on at the top of the second highest mountain in the world, for if they hadn’t seen it all before they knew that some-day they would.

For weeks the couple in the car travelled through the mountains in this way until one day they reached rock bottom and the car finally coasted to a stop and would not go any further.

It was time to walk and as they did so the radio in the car wailed a rock and roll song until it was so far behind them it became lost in the mists of time.

Image from Pixabay