His hands shook, spilling vodka. Thumping came from the small hotel wardrobe.
He’d hoped to spend quality time in Berlin, but had caught her on the phone with her BFF. He examined her scrawled itinerary map again: “Shopping” and “Spree” were still predominant.
He suddenly reddened. “Oh… The River Spree.”
Irish writer Perry McDaid lives in Derry close to the Donegal hills. His diverse writing disciplines and genres appear in international multimedia, recently with entropy2; Amsterdam Quarterly; Flash Fiction Chronicles; Plotters Ink; Alfie Dog; and 50wordstories. He has one imaginary cat, Stinky, mostly nailed to a board above a ruined allegorical flower bed.