Favourite dictator

"So who's your favourite dictator?" you say.

His blonde brow furrows. He's silent. Perhaps this was the wrong thing to say. Maybe his family was murdered by a dictator. Perhaps he's a university student, specializing in the history of a certain dictator. Maybe he's extremely normal, and not used to answering such a question.

"Gaddafi" he says, nodding and smiling.

"Why?" you say.

"He had the drip."

You nod. Not a false statement. Hard to argue with. He did have a very unique, memorable fashion.

"Any other reason?" you say. Perhaps he will take the bait, and say something completely batshit. Or maybe he can say something sane.

"No." he says.

Fuck. Why did he end like that? Well, he's probably going to ask you who your favourite dictator is. Is that a question you're prepared to answer?

He continues being silent. In fact, he doesn't really speak for the rest of the trip. Any basic questions are responded to with "mm" or "mhm".

Finally, the taxicab stops, leaving you in the airport with your suitcase. The morning sun brightly cuts through the clouds.

"See ya" you say.

"Don't care" he says. Fuck. Why is he so cool?