Lucky I've Got A Good Sense Of Humus

Quite why I'm outside at six in the morning, a cold morning, holding an empty jam jar into which the redhead is spooning humus, I'm unsure. There is something hedonistic about the whole thing, or, there is something queer about it. I turn to go inside anyway, leaving her to the pre-dawn delights of standing on her head for an hour someplace, as I mull over more sleep and why my nipples resemble the pillars of Hercules, when she yells: hey gorgeous, want some of these chick pea fritters too, they're bloody great?
I go back to the back of the car, and tell her, quietly, that she sounds like one of those Greek caterer's down at the Glendi festival, and to keep her voice down goddamnit. Why? She asks, just as inquisitively as George Donikian himself. Why? I say to her, because it's six in the morning that's why and this whole caper would look pretty fishy to a passing neighbour for sure.
Not fishy, she says to me, vegetabally! And besides, smell these fritters huh?
Yeah, they smell great, like the morning after.
After what?
After they've been deep fried.
Oh dear God, in this still, frigid, morning air, my whole street reeks of humus. I need that damned lid. This is not the kind of street, be it a city one or not, where it's commonplace to see two redheads looking definitely like they've had a night of rumpy, exchanging Greek foodstuffs. And why does she have a bootfull of Greek food anyhow? Does she have a Grecian bit on the side? No, she's not one for hirsuteness, decaying vegetable matter yes, but not decaying humans. She's a dancer after all, spry on her feet, even at this murderously early slit of a day. Frankly, I wouldn't mind the chick pea fritters, I guess, so she bungs me a half-dozen in quick succession which I have to snatch out of the air like a skip-diver's companion. These are strange days, not as strange as ancient Greece perhaps, but as close as it gets. I watch her drive off, the smell of the Mediterranean wafting from her car. It is all to do with Paul Theroux, I'm sure of it. I should never have left that book on her bedside table. Note to self: do not eat cold chick pea fritters and humus for breakfast!