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Made a Lot of Stops

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The first time, he sobbed his whiskey-sodden heart out. The second time he just scowled sullenly into his cocoa, wishing he had the fangs to eat her with.

But the third time, it came out that this woman with a taste for Nigerian tribal masks and French Modernism had barely been off the continent, had never seen Paris (smelly) or Giza (dry) or Machu Picchu (a bloody long ramble just to commune with rocks, however 'wise').

Whereas he had a century of travels to tell, and if she noticed him pausing to leave the corpses out, she didn't mention it.