Rustles, whispers and muffled noises

From a friend’s account.

The streets were perfumed with cardamom and the faint smell of joss sticks lit at a buddhist shrine along the road wafted. Dusk was settling in and Siem Reap was ready to turn on the lights.

A motorbike passed. In the invading twilight, fleeting glances, a half smile. Heads turn and the driver stopped. There was hesitance. Casual glances and head turning, more smiles. A walk and a talk. Short. Crisp and an exchange of numbers.

Can I visit your hotel this midnight sir?

And Cinderella came without her carriage or pumpkin, nor her footmen or mice. Neither were her glass slippers but a teeny weeny blouse, a short skirt and slippers. A knock. A knock. Muted conversations. Whispers and the sound of a door locked. More whispers and muted rustles. A creak and thump, dull noises and the sound of an old airconditioning unit and tired fan trying to drown out the muffled moans of the night.

This is my entry to Ron’s hosting of the November Blog Carnival with theme “Hello Stranger” at fliptravels.com.