It’s been two hours. The vodka is almost gone. There’s a pile of cigarettes around my feet. I feel tired. The darkness feels hefty. The cold is shrill. The girl is not coming back. All I am left with is this suitcase, an empty bottle of vodka and the dreary thoughts that have been accumulating in my head for the past couple of hours. One last cigarette to seal the destiny of this undertaking. Detective Maria is clocking out of this stake out and clocking in to this Saturday evening. The apartment doesn’t feel so terrible anymore. The warm velvet couch, the cozy bathtub, the fresh linens, some warm tea. I’ll grab a sandwich, I’ll take a shower, I’ll watch something dumb and till I know it the evening will have passed. I will not feel so alone. I will let myself go, slightly tipsy but content, into the maze of dreams. I will trust my shut eyes to lead me back to this moment when I first saw this girl on the train. I will let myself feel that enthusiasm. I will observe her again and I will follow her again, out of the wagon and into the city, to get to that back yard. There she will meet her lover. He will be waiting for her on that same seat that I was sitting. They will smile at each other and they will kiss. They will move to the back of the yard where some trees are and I will be the witness of their love. I will hide there, behind the closed doors of the backyard, standing still, feeling the sweat on the handle of my suitcase. Staring at them undress precisely, avoiding excess bareness, they will execute this union accurately, like they’ve done this before. This public ritual will probably be part of their love language. It will have started way before they met. In a train wagon or even at home, where she will have been touching herself and reading his passionate texts about all the things he will do to her when they would meet. So when they meet, she will already be wild with yearning and he will fulfill some of the promises he will have made to her, placing her in that uncomfortable setting, utilizing her built up desire so he can get off in this dark and moist corner of the city. It won’t last long. And it will be quiet. He will push and grunt in silence and she will maintain the regality of her stature, with her headscarf perfectly in place and her gossamer figure vibrating in the pulsations of his despondent thrusts. The only proof of them ever making love in that yard would be a used condom that missed the trash can and I, the witness. She will pull up her tights. He will put his penis back in, through the zipper that freed them in the first place. She will adjust her jacket. He will be looking for irregularities in his appearance. They will not kiss. He will go out first, like exiting an Aldi. She will follow, as ripply as ever. Meanwhile I will hide in the mezzanine, flushed and ready for my next venture into the mazes of Morpheus, waiting on the next quixotically degenerate to take me deep in the land of the forbidden dreams.
