4. Did you pack your suitcase yourself?

Big-Eared Cyclops was buzzing and crackling frantically all day, but was particularily audible that afternoon in Central Park.

There, strolling casually, a young woman was carrying a small suitcase with her two hands, clutching the suitcase to her waist. This suitcase was apparently too heavy for her strength as she was walking bending forwards, small droplets of sweat shining like minuscule stars on her nicely trimmed eyebrows.

She sat down on a bench where two figures in black were already seating: two priests, cloaked and in their black robes, looking exactly alike like twin brothers. One would say Catholic priests, were it not for the fact that they both wore turbans with a gold crown on it. This crown was engraved with words of an alphabet unknown to me. But, then again, you find all sorts of people and sects in New York.

A couple passed by. Lovers enjoying a carefree walk on a hot June afternoon, both in khaki shorts and tee-shirts. He was carrying two bottles of water; one he drank from after offering it to his escort (Wife? Girlfriend? Not a mistress), the other he kept, still unopened, bobbing and bulging, in the right pocket of his shorts.

The extenuated young woman addressed him, asking, in a foreign language, but obvious in her meaning, for a gulp of water. Startled, the guy recoiled and his girlfriend or wife, though silently, expressed shock, and clinched his hand harder. Not a word was exchanged, the couple simply walked away in a hurried step. The two priests never even moved.

Well, I was appalled evidently by such a display of uncivil behaviour. Plus, the foreign girl was attractive, even if perhaps not exactly good-looking. But definetely very fuckable.

I was late in my preparations for Woland's reception on Saturday, but I reckoned I could spare some time and offer this woman some refreshments. So, I went over to her and tried to explain my intentions and offered to accompany her (nice firm round tits) to a stall with cool beverages. When she finally agreed - not relunctantly, but rather distantly - I bent down to carry her suitcase; something that seemed to unnerve her a bit. I grabbed it, though, without waiting for her consent, keen as I was to show off the power of my toned muscles.

To my surprise, the suitcase was light as a paper carton. Actually, I could feel almost no weight at all! "If you pardon me" I said, politely and pausedly as you'd talk to a foreigner, "what do you carry in this bag?" I pointed to the suitcase and then, mimicking her efforts in carrying the bag, "It seemed to be very heavy to you when i saw you carrying it."

To this she replied in a crystal, angel-like voice and in fluent English: "In there I carry my lost love."

As if synchronised, the two priests nodded, and Big-Eared Cyclop's buzz was like a wasps' nest in my head.