He sat in his car an waited. His hands were sweaty and his heart was beating just a little bit faster than it should. He remembered when he got his first. Back then he wasn´t the big shot he was today. And yet he had already some political weight. It was back then when it started. When he got his first black suitcase. First it felt wrong. He felt guilty about it. But this feeling faded, after the second and third suitcase. What was left was the pleasure, the thrill of the forbidden and the craving for more. As he barked and yapped his way up in the food chain of the hyenas he got more suitcases, more regularly. He got so used to them, he couldn´t go on without them. He barley lived through nights, wandering up and down, waiting, desperately for his suitcase. Sometimes he asked himself, if his decision was wrong, to take the suitcases, but those questions dried out as soon as he got his next suitcase.
They sure took their time today. Where were they? Where was his suitcase? God dammit! He needed this black suitcase. NOW!
Thinking about shishas at the time? ^^