A Fair Price.
By Chris Sanders.
© 2014
Ben Roddick liked to let loose and have a good time now and then. Hell, what would be the point in travelling through foreign parts if occasionally you couldn’t go wild and really enjoy yourself?
But Gerald hadn’t seen it that way. Quite the opposite. Gerald was what Ben had come to term over the years, a budget Nazi. Every penny had to be watched. There was no room for extravagance, no room for spontaneity and so consequently very little time for fun. And yet somehow, at first, Ben had taken to the middle aged Englishman from Hampshire, had taken to his honesty and well defined set of principles, which was something of a change after spending more than two years on the road.
It was just a shame the guy had to be so damn tight with his cash. Perhaps if he’d seen it earlier he’d have stayed put in Istanbul and have let Gerald go off on his own to sample northern Bulgaria with all her wonders. But he hadn’t. Ben had agreed somewhat recklessly to go along with someone who was, after all, still a complete stranger and now only two days into their exploration, things had come to a head.
Ben turned cautiously into a narrow side road, waving away a small army of children who still pestered him for cash or a taste of bottled water. He’d wanted a drink himself that morning, something a little stronger than water to help set him up for the day. A three hour bus ride from Sophia in a coach that hadn’t heard of air conditioning, in the height of summer, could do that to a man. But having arrived in their new town, Gerald had insisted on seeking out accommodation first and so, in no uncertain terms, Ben had quickly told the stuffy old bore to get lost.
The street was coming to an abrupt end up ahead now. The last of the children had grown bored with their tall, blonde American who they felt would never reply to their pleas, and had simply sauntered off in search of more receptive prey. Ben kept one foot firmly in front of the other, the hope of finding a bar, any bar, Bulgaria’s dirtiest bar, driving him along the town’s filthy cobble stoned road. Forget about Gerald. He could look after himself from now on. Hell, had he not earned his own money toiling away in enough dead end jobs over the years to know how to spend it? As far as he was concerned Gerald was on his own.
He turned a tight bend in the road. Suddenly, the string of grey terrace housing with their overhanging balconies and little old ladies inside were gone and Ben was met instead by a large, unexpected town square swarming with people. He let his heavy back pack drop to the pavement, relieved as he did to find the square’s borders littered with numerous open air restaurants and cafe’s, buzzing with waiters and impatient customers. Briefly taking the back pack back in hand, he then chose the nearest bar, fortunate enough to find an empty table and chair in amongst the crowds.
