A ten minute walk, and it appeared out of the haze. Chez Guevara: the revolutionary café. She opened early, rain or shine.
She was wiping glasses on the beachfront bar. He took a pew.
She slapped a short black on the table.
“Make it –”
She dolloped it with rakija.
“I know, Boone-san, I know. Correto.”
“You treat me so bad.”
“It’s what I do.”
Sokitume dug her elbows on the bar. She leaned in. Her biceps flexed and pushed up her bust. Her lips parted an iota.
Boone read her signal. He learned in. He opened his mouth.
He did not close his eyes: Boone never closed his eyes. So he saw it coming, but he let it happen.
Sokitume smashed him in the face.
Boone picked himself up off the floor.
“I love our morning ritual, Sockers. It keeps me grounded. Now how about a bacon sandwich?”
— Hunter Barkley, The ISDA Protocol (unpublished)