On a Monday, with fruity schnapps boring away in my gut, I scraped along, through a bloodstained subway, into a grizzly Tübingen play. Through this fine mist, the blessed slugs slid in the park of lovers and drifters; with the clap of a scream, the hungover day came dawning into our lives. The stretch of Wilhelmstrasse poked out my eye, my tongue slurped around in my brain, looking for verse to drown the old pain in the mouth of a beautiful waitress. ‘Kiss me out of my misery,’ I breathed in her delicate ear; she gave me a flash of a Swabian smile, a hint of Wurttemberg lace. I stared at her eyes the whole morning, alone by the cafe door; I injected my coffee with whisky as crazy clouds winked through dark blinds. ‘Eines Tages als die Gurke sirrend über das Mondfeld haspelte.’ (‘One day when the cucumber reeled whirring over the moon field.’): I had had too much to think, needed the touch of a swallow in sunlight; the love of a sky blue hostess on the wings of this wasted day.
Street Art on Wilhelmstrasse, Tübingen on a wall which separates Osiander Bookshop (no 12) from Cafe Schöne Aussichten (no 16)