Her pink cheeks and red mouth were the last parts he saw as she stepped into the cab and out of the cold morning air. He knew he would never see her again. Not in Berlin. Not in London. The streetlights flickered as they turned on. He stood on the curb and watched the cab take her toward a hostel in Mitte. He put his right palm in the air; half-saluting.
Marcel Dettmann - Lattice
He had been optimistic about seeing her again because she was so open about leaving Miami for good. She liked Germany and being with him and taking pills together at Berghain. When they were inside the club she held his hand and hadn't flinched when he kissed her. He liked it when she wiped saliva from the sides of his mouth with her thumbs and offered gum when the clenching hurt. She only asked for beer.
It wasn't because he liked that she spoke three languages or was a paralegal. That wasn't why he liked her more than the other girls. It was the numb expression he saw as she looked up and asked for his phone. Her blue eyes were glassy. He passed the phone over and she typed in her number. She asked to be walked to the taxi rank. He didn't hold her hand; he just walked with her.
Marcel Dettmann - Plain
The cab turned into Rosenstrasse and she saw the open doors of the hostel. She would rest a few hours before packing her things, she thought. The driver asked where he should stop. She asked him to turn back.