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Monday, June 20, 2011

Our Vacation

Eve and I had a wonderful time on our vacation until today.  The peaceful sound of the ocean waves and seagulls in the morning, reminded me of our home so long ago.

“Want to have lunch at Shore Scene’s diner after our swim today?” Eve asked as she slipped on a bikini top.

“Sure.  I love their grilled lobster and salmon.  Remember our days in Morocco, eggs and lobster for breakfast?  Of course that’s all the fishing village had for breakfast, lunch and dinner.” I said with a snicker.

“Amazing how fast time goes by.  We will never have that again . . . gone forever”. She said sadly as she walked to me, took my arms and wrapped them around her. “But we will always be . . .” Eve gave me a kiss and we readied ourselves for the beach.

The swim and morning sun were refreshing.  We finished, went back to our room, changed, and went to the Shore Scene’s diner that overlooked the ocean’s shore line.
I always leave business cards where ever we go. These have House of Ancient Coins and Curios printed boldly with our web address showing.  I tossed one onto an unoccupied dining table as we walked by and I left several in the men’s restroom.

During our lunch I noticed someone watching us from behind a menu about 4 tables away. I’ve been around for a long time, so you have a tendency of picking up on those kinds of things, even in a crowded restaurant.  I spoke to Eve as I gouged a piece of lobster with my fork. Without looking up to arouse his suspicion I said, “Do you see that guy over close to the kitchen door?”

“Way before you did”, Eve said while taking a drink.  “He’s sort of sloppy doing surveillance.  Do you think he is one of them?” she asked.

“Don’t know”, let’s just relax and see what happens.  Damn!  All I wanted to do was relax for one week to forget about everything else.”

Eve smiled, “This could be fun…. You don’t have to always live in www.ancientscoin.com .  This could be someone to play with.”

I looked at her. “I don’t feel like playing today.”

(TO BE CONTINUED) . . . .

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