He sat in a corner of the club. It was the first time hed looked so sad since he arrived ( « Is this it ? I mean, this is different. Girls, boys, everything’s different! Well. It’s raining. Fuck Vegas. » ), midsummer in the old waster flat of the G.strasse. Stacey looked at him « you belong here » she whispered.
Thoughts of sashimi, sayonaras, sake and the Fuji-Yama Mountain swirled in his head. ( « I never was there, no really I swear ! »). « I don’t want to go back to Tokyo » he finally said ( remembering those days without water & those sleepless nights, the gray pearls of saliva & the winds & tornados that swept the crimson reddish /purple blood of the last illusions).
« I come from a place without a ‘present-time’. Everybody’s running after the infinite emptiness of their soul, in vain. And I never really noticed it before. Now I can feel it. And that’s why I’m sad. I am sad because I will miss that « carpe diem » spirit. » « But I am terribly happy to know that it exists somewhere ». They both smiled, and left the club. The party was not over but they needed to be alone. No techno anymore. « I love this music but I need to listen to the sound of the city tonight. » They crossed the Oberbaumbrücke without a word.
He was feeling free walking the streets of Kreuzberg with her on his side. « Bonny & Clyde or some shit » she said. « My own personal Eldorado with different shades of blue ».
(It’s been such a long time that you’ve forgotten the heat of the sun on your bones and the echo of her voice inside your chest).
« I need to purify the colors of my inner rainbow. » « You know, there’s neither rainbow nor sky where I come from. There’s no Monday in the sun. There’s just no time to lose and no time for losers. No time to dream and no clouds for dreamers. Just bills to pay and the speed of pain. This is a place where your life is just a statistic. »
Stacey was not sure she understood what he was saying.
They entered the next kiosk, bought two small Jägermeister bottles and a few Sternburg , came out and sat on a bank in front of the shop.
( Nobody wants to share your tears chérie and nobody changed the water of the black tulips.)
« What are you thinking about ?» she asked after a while. He stood up and said « Come and show me another city with lifted head singing so proud to be alive*». Some people smiled. Some kept drinking their beers. And a nice refreshing wind was swelling on them…

*from Carl Sandburg’s poem ‘Chicago’

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