Let’s put it up front right now: I’m not an expert on holidays. I just don’t have that kind of money. You might even go so far as to say that I am poor. I don’t mind because it’s true.

I am thirty, and my average income has been around $1400 a year for the last ten years. America is a very wealthy country, so sometimes I feel anti-American. I mean, I feel as if I am letting America down because I’m not making enough money to justify my citizenship.

Anyway, it’s hard to holiday on $1400 a year and yesterday I was taking the Greyhound bus to Monterey to stay for a couple of weeks as a kind of exile from San Francisco.

I won’t go into the reasons why. I am afraid that too much humour would ruin this story because actually it has very little to do with me. I just went along for the ride.

It concerns the two German boys that were on the bus. They were in their early twenties and sitting in the seat in front of me. They were in America for a three-week vacation. It was almost over: too bad.

They were yakking it up in German and touristing away, pointing out this and that as the bus rolled towards Monterey.

The German boy sitting next to the window also had a deep interest in the contents of American automobiles, especially the female contents. Whenever he would spot a good-looking girl driving along, he would point her out to his friend as part of their itinerary in America.

They were healthy, normal sex fiends.

A Volkswagen sedan came by the German boy on the window and he immediately got his friend’s attention by pointing out two good-looking young girls in the Volkswagen. The German boys really had their faces pressed against the window now.

The girl on the passenger side, she was right beneath us, had short blonde hair and a gentle white neck. The Volkswagen and the bus were travelling at the same rate of speed.

As the German boys continued to stare down at her, she grew kind of nervous, self-conscious, but she did not know why this was happening because she couldn’t see us. She was now playing with her hair as women are prone to do under such conditions, even if they don’t know quite what’s up.

The lane of traffic in front of the Volkswagen slowed down and our bus went roaring ahead of the car. We were gone from each other for about a minute when the Volkswagen came up on us again.

The German boys picked up on this instantly and their faces were pressed against the window, participating in the age-old Candy-Store-Sex-Window Syndrome.