The next few days fly by in a blur as I hopelessly try to keep up with the overwhelming (albeit refreshing) change of pace. Valentine's Day greets me with a gritty smile, in an empty dim-lit room, and I'm not in the mood for smiling back.
Quite the unexpected punch, mind you.
I spend more time than I'd like to admit staring blankly at a night that fades away, smoking a pack, shuffling through all the random thoughts of the day, before deciding to make a call that greets me with voice mail.
Dating Mari was, in a lot of ways, like starting to smoke, except for the fact that smoking only fucks up your lungs. Now, not dating Mari was like an itch that I couldn't scratch, tearing me apart in such a bizarre fashion I couldn't help but feel amused by it. And then consider proceeding to kill myself as quickly as possible.
Another call greets me with voice mail. And then some. An impossible amount of time wasted in bed and I can't quite recall what was bothering me for starters. But a quote still kept hammering inside - go out with your friends. If I were you, I wouldn't think twice.
So once more into the breach, profession gives me a call and I say 'ello, mate.
Oh, dear. Do something utterly useless before such memorable day go by in a memorable blank of existance. I drop by at Duda's and we go out for a few drinks at Berlin. The pub is swarming with romantic couples - most of them quite obviously not belonging to a pub - and two different barmans do the silly joke about we being a gay couple. Good on ya, mate. We have some brew, talk a lot of nonsense and kick it.
And that's pretty much it.
