’ Patrick gave Benjamin his mobile phone number. As the two parted, Patrick’s phone rang. He answered it. ‘Hello? Oh, hey honey. How are you hol...ing up without me? I miss you too. OK. Love you. Bye.’ Benjamin seemed annoyed by the interruption. ‘Was that your girlfriend?’ he asked. ‘Actually, that was my wife. Why?’ ‘Forget about tonight,’ Benjamin told Patrick. ‘I don’t fuck married guys.’ Patrick stood there in stunned silence as Benjamin walked away. Who said anything about fucking? I’m. But - I like you. So let's go." We left the bar, heading through the snow-covered back streets of Moscow. And no, we didn't hold hands, or have 'urgent passion' like you read about. We arrived at a garage. There, round the side of the decrepit building that passed as the workshop, was her car. Looking out of place in such an environment of disuse as this, it gleamed. Black bodywork swept sensually over from the long bonnet, sweeping back over the doors and roof, curving into an unobtrusive. More

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