Standing up was the last thing I wanted to do while I was drinking a delicious coffee concoction at a little table in a cafe that seemed to be on the roof of the building that overlooks my apartment, but what could I do? A funny looking guy walks up to you, extends his hand, and introduces himself and you don't have much of a choice without looking rude. Sunscreen wafted straight through the steam rising from my cup and bombarded my nostrils. It felt like I just lathered on a fresh coat, but the scent came with the stranger.
He wore a bunch of those cardboard sleeves for hot cups in his arms like gauntlets. When we shook hands they rubbed gently against each other making what sounded like whispers. He refused to stop, but I never tried to pull away. Probably because he looked at me with this eerie, knowing smile. He knew exactly what I was thinking, so I listened.
Do I remember what he said? I barely remember this much about most of my dreams, or that I dreamt at all. But those words - they felt like a hot breeze. I was terrified and excited at the same time. I'm sure the Germans have a better word for it. I certainly can't do that feeling justice.
The whispers fell still, but he kept his grip tight and looked out over the city. Dusk was falling quickly, but the moon loomed over us, big and bright in all its pockmarked glory. Bigger than I've ever seen it before. I swear I saw something moving up there.
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