Admiralsbrücke, July 20

It’s the first warm day after weeks of what feels like a premature fall in the middle of July. Maybe that’s why the admiral’s bridge spanning over Landwehrkanal is unusually empty as if people haven’t realized yet that the summer dresses and sandals are not ready yet to be put back on the top shelves of the wardrobe. 

The three of us seem like strangers to the scene, like bystanders to a play that everyone else has acted out multiple times and knows exactly what to do and say to make it look absolutely natural to the audience. We decide to do like everyone else and sit down on the ground, looking around, watching people. We’re leaning against one of the poles that separate the space for pedestrians from the road, sipping the drinks we bought just 5 minutes ago. However, it doesn’t seem to matter where you would sit because very few people actually attempt to force their way through with a car. It is like an unwritten rule that this bridge belongs to the people and that cars simply don’t have space there.

I can see the back of your head against the evening light, your shoulders, unusually tense in the beginning, start to ease up a bit more. You’re lost in thought somewhere else and I realize that I’m not listening anymore to what Constantin is saying, it is just background noise like the chattering of all the other people around us. I try to force myself into your head, I want to know what you’re thinking about. I open my mouth to actually ask but then I don’t and I close it again. I follow the direction of your eyes and I try to see what you’re seeing. “...don’t you think?”. I nod, although I have no idea what’s being said but he doesn’t seem to have noticed or if so then he doesn't seem to care. Sometimes telling a story is just for the purpose of telling it, not for it actually being heard. 

My feet in my sandals are dusty, black traces of the city’s dirt all over my toes and up to my ankles, I discover two new scars, probably from where I scratched myself when manoeuvering the bike around. The drinks are empty already and I want another one but I don’t dare to ask yet, I don’t want to seem too eager to get drunk. All I wish for is a little more of this lightheadedness, to keep the momentum, to freeze the moment for a little longer. Close to the railing, the musicians switch. We’re wondering if they follow some kind of schedule or how else they decide who goes when and how oddly they seem to sync. 

There is a couple sitting on one of the pipes that span across the river and we think that it’s actually not allowed to sit on them but they came by canoe and then climbed up there, resting their heads against the railing. They even brought their own bottle of wine and like birds in their nest they observe the scene. The two of you are focused on the guy playing music, one of the local lunatics is making some scene, forcing himself in the picture although no one asked him to be there. He seems bizarre, topless, his pants so loose around his waist that they might actually drop any moment. He makes up a song, weirdly yelling, throwing his long grey hair back and forth, barely three leftover teeth in his mouth. None of you notice that I look in the other direction, admiring the couple on the gas pipe, how close they are, how intimate.

I check my watch and we should get going soon if we want to make it to our reservation but I don’t want to get up just yet, I want to keep this moment for a little longer. Instead of saying something, I choose to stare at the back of your head again, losing my thoughts in the shape of your neck. I don’t know how much time passes, for all I care we could sit there the whole night. You stir, turning towards us. “We should probably get going”.