All the main streets run out from this spot. And here is Tahrir Square." He touches the center of her palm. In this section there's the desert, and in this point it's plains. He turns her hands over, palms up, and says, "Now you." He draws one finger down one side of her palm and says, "This is the Tigris River Valley. Her breath goes high and tight and shallow she hopes he can't see her clearly in the car- her translucent skin so vulnerable to the slightest emotion. She holds his gaze a moment, hears a rush of pulse in her ears like ocean surf. "Right now? In this car?" He leans back his eyes are black marble, dark lamps. "Is this what you mean? Like, if the ocean was here on the side and these knuckles are mountains and here on the back it's Santa Monica, Beverly Hills, West L.A., West Hollywood, and X marks the spot." She traces her fingertips over the backs of his hands, her other hand pressing into the soft pads of his palm. "All right." She takes his hands, runs her finger along one edge. A car rolling down the street toward them fills the interior with light, then an aftermath of prickling black waves. He leans forward and the streetlight gives him yellow-brown cat eyes. He holds up his hands, side to side as if they were hinged. "Do you have paper?" She looks over the empty sweep of the car's interior. "If you draw me a map I think I'll understand better." “Show me." He looks at her, his eyes darker than the air.
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