My place
As we wandered through the gray streets of the alley, I couldn't keep up with her.
...
When evening falls, the cars slow down.
Streetlights turn on. The air turns cold.
Mothers prepare something warm to eat. And the houses fill up again.
...
The bus just pulled away.
I'm sitting down. Same seat.
But there's a cherry scent in the air. I turn around.
Right. Left.
It’s just a woman sitting next to me.
There are only a few people around.
The sky is still light blue.
I'll be there soon. I shouldn't think.
Stop 4.
Not mine.
I wait.
Stop 5.
Mine.
I need to get off here.
I rush out. Bump into someone. Get off.
I need to empty my head.
Empty my head.
I try.
I'm here.
She's already here.
I can't.
...
“Yara... did you wait long?”
“Don't worry, Ede.”
“Let's go.”
She smells like fresh laundry.
White dress. Dark sandals.
“Tonight I feel like...”
It's a formula. That's how she announces it — the plan for the evening.
“...mmmmh... McDonald's.”
“Then McDonald's it is.”
We start walking.
“Did you bring it, Ede?”
“The DS?”
“Not that. The pack.”
“Ah... yeah, of course.”
“You're very good.”
“I know.”
She always says that.
...
We walk in. It's warm inside.
The smell of fried food coats the air.
We're really at a fast food place.
A man bites into a burger.
Gets sauce all over himself.
Some kids drown their fries.
They get messy too.
Everywhere I look... ketchup.
"You order, Yara."
"Good evening. Two McCrispy meals, please."
The cashier presses a few buttons on the register.
"That'll be sixteen sixty."
Yara pulls out a twenty euro bill. Pays.
And we wait.
"How much money do you even have left?" I ask.
"More or less... seventeen hundred."
That's a lot.
"Couldn't we spend half of it on scratch tickets?"
"We're underage—"
"That doesn't stop you with cigarettes, though."
Again.
Just a little more.
"We could walk around and give half of it to bums," I suggest.
"'Bums' is rude."
"Homeless people?"
Almost.
"You know I don't do that stuff, Ede."
"But smoking's fine."
Bingo.
"Ede... you're hopeless."
I know.
That's why you don't leave me alone.
Like you always say:
"It's the time you wasted for your rose that..."
She doesn't finish it.
Leaves me hanging.
"made your rose so important."
She finished it.
It's her favorite story. Back then, she used to talk only about The Little Prince.
"Precisely because you're hopeless, I can't leave you on your own."
"..."
"Let's go."
"What about our burgers?"
She runs.
She knows I'll follow.
We run outside. Fresh air.
I try to catch up to her. But she's faster.
The sky is dark blue.
And when it turns that color...
the alley.
...
I catch her.
"Got you."
"You got me. Now hand over the cigarettes."
"Alright."
