The sun was striking cold on that morning of middle November. He was sitting on one of the two central benches in Savignyplatz. His dog wandered tired on the grass. He heard the S-Bahn stopping at the station right behind him. He stood up and turned to look at the wagons. Ten people jumped down, only two jumped in. He noticed a young mustachioed Italian coming down from the stairs of the station. His eyes followed him carelessly until they met the clock: it was half past eight, he had been sitting on that bench for two hours. Before going out, he had programmed to sit on the bench and think. But once there, he couldn’t: he had just sat there and watched now his dog, now the yellow bus, now that old woman with weird orange hair, now that couple of students going to school. Now he was late for work and only now he remembered what he wanted to think about. What had happened the day before, right in front of the Literaturhas in Fasanenstraße, had confused him for all the night. Why did that girl start to talk to him? Why did she ask him, with her adorable German accent and in such a low voice “Have you ever been in prison?”?
He couldn’t answer, he was like paralyzed, he could just stand there and watch her into her eyes. Was he going to meet her again? Was she going to change his life? Dario Scuderi VH
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