…For the umpteenth time this morning, the thin man with wary eyespours another cup of coffee and returns to his seat at the dinette table. Heperforms the task for something to do, just like the sip he takes from thecup, more for action than thirst. There is nothing unfamiliar about, buthe studies the air before his face with intensity. His gaze moves from thecheckered oilskin tablecloth to the pale light of the only kitchen window andback again. Through a deep mental fog he sees neither. He is lost in thought. The thump of frying pan on the stove top makes him jump. Rina hascome into the kitchen without him even noticing, and is now bustlingabout the kitchen doing cooking things with a familiar ease and herpeculiar habit of humming to herself when pleasantly occupied. Her backis straight, hips full and fi rm, and buttocks tightly packed into the confi nesof denim jeans. With the unnerving second sense of some women, sheglances over her shoulder with a knowing smile…
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