The Spyder swings quickly around the roundabout at Haymarket and Lidgate, the top down in unusual fashion for winter. The driver growls as he fiddles with a cigarette in one hand and his car radio simultaneously. Nothing there. It annoys him, and he zips through the light that turned quite red in front of him. The music blares even louder, and the cigarette is replaced between his lips. It's Daltrey, growling much as he has, and he smirks -

The car comes to a halt near a cleaners slightly east of Regent street. It's a first stop, this night, and Edward's expected. An older man shambles forth, beginning a conversation. His mouth is barely open before the music goes on, well over his voice.

Edward nods as the man talks to him, a message conveyed. The cigarette's chewed in the listening - a cigar would have been more useful - and soon Edward reaches for his case, flipping the silver glint open in the darkness.

The destroyed cigarette is spit out, and Edward finally takes a moment to reply to the elderly gentleman. Beneath the music, he explains something, all while carefully tapping each side of his cigarette against the silver. The car rumbles low, as if he doesn't plan on staying.

After the cigarette is lit, Edward nods as the man takes up his end of the conversation again. The new cigarette is replaced for the old, and the silver case is set aside with its matching lighter. The two men enjoy a laugh at something said, and the elderly gentleman taps the side of the Spyder's door, right at the lowered window. A signal to depart. Edward bobs his head in return, both hands free again. One goes to the wheel, the other to the gear shift. He winks at the gentleman, and before the man can step away clear from the Spyder, the car lurches forward into the evening's traffic again.

The traffic's annoying, for sure. It's London, afterall. But something about Daltrey's voice always brings a smile to Edward's lips. He grins as he turns west, heading home.

Posted by Criseyde at February 05, 2006 12:29 AM