Trafika Europe 11 - Swiss Delights

stoneage

it drizzles, almost snows. the main alley glows in all neon colors. shadow fragments on the wet asphalt. hundertwasserblue the robe of the statue on top of the gothic fountain. drunkards and lovers in the alcoves. in front of the local theater a crowd during intermission. a woman hurries past me in high, elegant shoes. i smell her satin perfume. i believe i am hallucinating. but shape and smell correspond. all too soon i have snow and asphalt in my nose again. suspended from the sky hangs laughter which no one answers, a good, red laugh. streetlights bag the stars. it is still too early to say anything final about the evening. soon the time of the pub philosophies begins, the time of the forgotten dreams at the glass’s rim, the time of the beerbeltrevolutionaries, the time of the winehappy afterhourpoets, the time of the littlebriarroses and princes. every night littlebriarroses wake in every pub just to fall asleep again hours later, disappointed. and in every pub princes sit evening after evening who want to fight dragons and walls of roses. in my favorite hangout they gather as always at this time. in front of the entrance i recite their names like a good girl first grader. it doesn’t hurt today to be “outside.” it makes me only a tad sad because stuck in these names there was so much hope, so much futile searching to break out, so many glass walls to destroy, to be with human beings rather then next to them. but at the moment this is not so important to me.

219