The bus had no air conditioning, so eleven men in various stages of ‘hangover-ness’ sweated through the traffic on their way to Baku, airport.
Outside a sun-blasted city- one could not believe that winter had really only ended a week ago, there is no spring here and precious little autumn either- sped by.
Brown hairy arms hung leisurely out of car windows, as the drivers navigated their mud spattered white Lada’s, through the traffic at breakneck speed and sudden screeching stops.
Sweat rolled down my chest as I tiredly read my book, but it was incapable of holding my attention.
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