12 Hours In Paradise Read Online Free PDF Page A

to the trash can. He had long, greasy hair pulled back into a ponytail and was wearing grimy-looking clothes, but otherwise he looked pretty normal. He had a spark in his eyes and a smile on his face. He held a hand-scrawled cardboard sign on his lap.
     
    2 Ugly 2 Prostitute.
     
    Arash came to a sudden stop, placing his hand on my shoulder and swiveling me to face the young man.
    “My friend,” he said very seriously, “do not sell yourself short. You are not too ugly at all to prostitute yourself. In fact, my friend here was just saying she wouldn’t mind—”
    I jabbed my elbow into his ribs.
    “Are you guys twins?” The guy snickered at our matching outfits.
    “As a matter of fact, no, we’re not twins. Are you telling me you don’t recognize the uniform of the Order of Time Travel Adventurers?”
    “Oh yeah. I recognized them. I was just messing with you. Hey, you got some spare change?”
    Arash dug deep into his pockets and pulled out a few crumpled bills. “I probably have more, but would you be satisfied with this? I’d like to keep the rest.”
    “That’ll do,” the guy said. “Thanks, man.”
    “Next question.” I tugged on Arash’s arm, pulling us back onto the virtual people-mover. “We’re wasting time.”
    “We’re time travelers.” Arash turned to wave good-bye to the 2 Ugly guy, who waved back gratefully. “How can we waste time?”
    “Next question.” I retrieved the article from the pocket of his aloha shirt. “‘What would constitute a perfect day for you?’ You go first this time.”
    “A perfect day.” He hung his head and rubbed his temples as though coaxing the perfect day from his brain. “A perfect day would be less about what I was doing and more about my state of mind. I mean…it wouldn’t matter where I was.”
    We were walking through the ground level of a huge parking lot that serviced some of the beachside luxury hotels. It smelled like day-old garbage and diesel fuel. An oversized, canary-yellow bus was idling at a cement island where a huge group of Japanese tourists stood in line waiting to board.
    “Where do you suppose they’re going at this hour?” Arash mused, but I could tell he didn’t expect an answer.
    “What’s your perfect state of mind, then?” I asked. “Let’s sit here for a second and watch them get on. Maybe we’ll get a clue from something someone says. Maybe even a secret message about our adventure.”
    In reality my feet were hurting. I was wearing new sandals with hard soles, and I could feel a blister rising on the ball of my foot. I’d worn them that night because they were cute. I thought Arash would prefer them to the other more broken-in pair that was packed in my suitcase right next to them. Big mistake. Arash wasn’t the kind of guy who noticed cute sandals. We sat on the bench and watched the orderly progression of the line, the bus seeming to swallow the people as fast as the cement island expelled them.
    “I would be calm, naturally. Peaceful. Or maybe not, I take that back. On the contrary, my senses would be fully engaged and heightened to their maximum potential. I’d see everything and hear everything all around me, no matter where I was. I’d recognize it as the art and music of life. I’d taste the sweetness of a piece of fruit as if for the first time. A soft breeze would caress me and ruffle my hair like someone’s fingers massaging my scalp…like this.”
    He gently placed his fingertips on the top of my head and moved them in a slight circular motion. It felt amazing. He withdrew his hand.
    “I’d be with someone,” he continued. “Someone I love, most likely.”
    “Anything else?” I asked when a few seconds went by without any more information.
    “That’s all I can see in my crystal ball,” he answered. “Do you think they’re still in love?” An older man was helping his wife onto the first step of the bus. His head was as gray as hers, and his hand shook, but she accepted it as if it