fly me to the moon

Daniel shifted uneasily in his seat. The seat was damp, due to the fact that the seat was in a soft top Jag, with a leaking seal around the window, which sprayed Daniel and previously the seat, whenever the driver drove above 40 miles an hour. The driver did this often and without any consideration for the speed limit of the road. He wouldn’t have minded, but the driver spent most of her time lighting cigarettes and gesturing wildly, whilst talking loudly at the side of his face.


“This whole fiasco is just so indicative of the collapse of your whole cultural structure. You Limey’s have been declining since we saved your asses in the first war and now, here we are, investigating your own secret service for you. I mean is that a joke or what?”


Daniel concentrated on trying to outwardly look like he was remaining calm. He didn’t want his newly appointed American partner to get any psychological advantage over him.


“You’re quiet Danny boy, you don’t, ah, like my driving?” She said


“Your driving is fine.” He said out loud. It’s your mouth that’s the problem, he said inside his head. “How long until we arrive?”

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