They called my flight, but I made no move to board: the mystery wasn’t solved.
Callously abandoned? Why drop the bouquet there? Dump it in a trash bin, there’d be no questions then. Besides, it had landed with some force – witness the two detached petals splayed like corpses on the cold-slab floor. The physical evidence connoted passion, not indifference. Was there a phone call, a letter opened, a penny finally dropping from some comment made in passing?
The flowers were pink, not red. It could still be a case of careless haste.
My stakeout continued, though time was running out.
Photo by Ron Thompson at Barcelona Airport, August 2013
See how it began here. See the conclusion here.
You Still Look the Same
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