He tasted the dry wine on his tongue and he didn't dare to look up. Thousand of eyes seemed to pierce him, thousand enemies seemed to sit laughing around the tables. He stared in the dancing flame of the candle in the middle of his round table, and he wondered that he had found the diner at once, although he had never been in this big city before. He thought about all the lightened skyscrapers he had passed on the way from the station to this diner, and about all the people who had made way in the last moment, just when they stood right in front of him. He had felt secure in the pushing and rushing and moving crowd. First he had thought that he would shiver because of the icy wind, that blew obstinately against the glass- facades of the skyscrapers, was bounced off and drove his attack all the more furious with his whirls and his gray snow-flakes against the hectic people, who tried to outwit the attacking wind by hiding their white necks and violet lips under the rough, coarse woven collars of their coats (what was in vain, because this New York storm always finds a split to slip through and to steal that comfort bodyheat covered under the coats).
But then he had felt that the presence of this thousand of moving and rushing and pushing people made him shiver, made him feel like being a part of a big, breathing organism, of an endless flowing blood circulation.
The hot air above the flame flickered. He stared at the round table-top and saw the lines of the wooden graining dancing in that heat. Slowly he raised his eye, just a little bit, a small glance over the rim of the red table-top he was cought behind. And very slowly, his look fell from the table onto the floor, laying lost on the rough wooden boards. And in that very moment, when he suddenly felt that no one did watch, that all attention, although whizzing just a touch away from his ear, did not hit him, he looked up. He looked right away through the room and straight into a pair of blinking brown eyes that belonged to a young woman who stared at him with her mouth wide open, trying to swallow a hug piece of pizza.
"Shit" he thought and he felt that his attempt to smile back wasn't very successful. Hastily he bowed his head again.
"What fool you are" he thought and turned the damp beermat in his fingers.
"Coming to this city just to meet a woman you have never met before and who does not even know that you exist. It's childish and ridiculous. I give you a good advice: do not tell anybody never ever of these stupid things you do!"
He got no answer and so he took another gulp from his wine.
"I wouldn't be angry if she does not come. It would be just another wasted night." He wasted so many nights before, sitting private in public places, waiting that the world would turn to him, would turn around him. But he always felt, as if he would miss something, as if the action takes place somewhere else, maybe where he had stayed the night before.
He wasn't sure if she would come. He had just heard, that she often visited this diner. He would return if she did not come tonight. Another wasted night more or less. He didn't care anymore.
He stared on the bottom of his empty glass. The flame of the candle was reflected in the few drops that ran down the inside of the glass. Yellow and red rays, blue and purple pieces of light touched his eye. Fascinated he turned the glass in his hand. Then he dipped his forefinger in the small puddle of left over wine. With his wet finger, he carefully touched the brim of the glass and began to move his finger around it. A crystal clear sound arose under his finger, the glass vibrated and the sound floated sweetly through the room. It was a warm, comfortable tone and he felt, that his whole body vibrated with this sound, his teeth vibrated, his heart vibrated and even the table-top and the wooden floor vibrated. It seemed as if the room had adopted the vibration given birth by his finger. The merry people around him didn't notice the sweet sound. No one looked up, no one complained.
When he felt the cold winter wind playing between his feet and heard the unwilling croaking of the door he looked up. His hands slid slowly down the glass and fell weak on the table-top. His look cut through the loud and smokey and thick air as he stared at her. He felt how his hot blood shot into his head. Of course she did not notice him. She went straight through the room to the counter and sat down on one of these high stools.
"Hi Sam!" she said "A coffee, please!"
When he heard her familiar voice, a very strong energy floated through his body, made him clenching his fist convulsively. His fingernails cut deep into his flesh. He watched her beautiful face, her lips, who carefully touched the coffeecup, her bright eyes. The axis of the world.
Slowly he raised his hand and carefully touched the brim of his glass. He moved his finger, and again that swelling, clear sound arose. No one seemed to notice it, but it filled the room like a slowly rolling bolt of lightning or a mighty wave. The whole room vibrated and made a clear, meditative sound, but no one cared. Suddenly he felt attention. He starred to the counter and saw her setting down the cup. She looked up, her eyes flickered around, her body seemed to tremble. And then slowly she turned around, turned to the source of this tone, turned to him.
And suddenly she found his eyes. They looked at each other. He felt like exploding. He could not breathe. And then she slowly opened her lips, smiled at him. And in that very moment his glass bursted into thousand pieces. The vibration died, he felt his hot blood flowing over his fist, dropping onto the table. He hastily hunted for a handkerchief in his pocket. He pressed his finger against his lips and tasted the sweet blood. When he looked up, she was gone. At her place on the counter laid a dollar note. He put the money for the wine and the glass under the beermat and hurried through the red, round tables.
When he shot the door behind him, he heard Sam calling: "Your change!!", but he did not care. With the slamming of the door, the loud laughing of all the merry people in the diner died. He stood all alone under that blue blinking "Coffee and andwiches" sing (the S did not work anymore). He felt something like hope. And he was happy. As happy as never before. He shut his coat and set up the collar. It began to snow. Big, soft snow-flakes fell through the dark New York night.
Philipp Hofmann