I hoped that this was true. Igor opened a hatch and pitched our luggage in. Then climbed a ladder to the cab above. The engine rumbled to life and belched a fetid black cloud over us. Through watery eyes I saw his hand appear in the open door where it made a single gesture of invitation before vanishing from sight. We climbed after him, settled onto the scratched and patched seat, stared out of the filthy front window as gears ground somewhere below us. The thing lurched and vibrated, then rumbled forward onto the road.
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