The city floated in recent days in a soft drizzle, the streets transformed into an endless gold fish bowl. Patrick came ten minutes early on to Søren's and Nora's apartment. He stromerte a while on the few meters in front of their door around as he was about to start rifling through the garbage bags near the door. Guided by an unconscious act, he brushed past the door several times and sometimes stayed for a short time in front of it, but then went further. He explored the content of his jacket pockets, old pieces of paper tossed into a trash can, and counted with the fingers of the coins in his pockets, without its eradication and control. After a few minutes, the ritual was over and a long finger with a long time to smooth the nail with combing the bell board.
His fingertip was hair-width away from the square button next to N. Winters / Crate SO / P. Salinger, as he paused thoughtfully. P. Salinger. He read his name a second time, deliberately this time flying over and not only. He shook his head and would not get used to never get to live somewhere. He fumbled for his keys.
The staircase was a patchwork of unnatural clean floors, rust stains and the smell of chlorine in the walls had to live. Extent possible. Patrick was not sure. He thought he smelled somewhere ginseng, scratched earthy on the palate. Earthen? Ground level.
Patrick was convinced that it was of fundamental importance as a man walked up a flight of stairs. For others liked the course or the body language speak volumes, but for him said it all about a person climbing stairs. Many walked nimbly rushed up the stairs and down as they ran on a giant Mongolian Grill in staggered look. Others climbed two or three steps at a time until her shoulders almost to higher levels touched, and acted like a urban mountain gorilla. Patrick had already put bananas on the last steps of some stairs. In thought at least.
Søren drove rather than stairs instead of walking. The soles of his shoes melted to the ground. His body seemed to be in contact with to be mastered in a cruel or slide-step to develop, which left him shuffling then hover like a snail on speed. Nora danced down stairs as a hidden dance steps in the speckled stone or the master curves of the wood were banned, which could see them and just follow.
He had once asked about the nursery rhyme, which expired while in her head. She had smiled and whispered something in his ear, which was about white foxes, and blackberry bushes and disappeared at the moment from his memory was when she had finished. But it was with relative safety have been wonderful.
Patrick Nora heard giggling from the living room, as he unlocked the door.
"Hee, Salinger." Nora's smile beamed as wacky street lamp. She was clearly as a secondary source of light. "We thought, do not you come over."
'I'm on time' was going to say almost Salinger, but it sounded awfully stuffy in his head. He hated it jammed or exaggerated to appear neat and, above all, predictable. Almost as much as the fact that Nora brought him to a Salinger to think about themselves.
Nora grazed too long pony with a peace of mind on her nose. She lay on the sofa wrapped as how does a man only because he is a very long time there and decided not much more to do than to herumzuräkeln. Søren did about the same - only with their bare legs. The face, which could see Patrick wore one to just dangling from the ear lobes sly grin.
"When exactly did it during his decided that pants are unnecessary?" He asked in a tone that he could not interpret themselves. He slipped bag and jacket from her shoulders and left it carelessly to the ground like old sheds.
"It seemed adequate," murmured Søren in Nora's thigh. Then he left his attention span. He laughed softly through his nose as he had said something funny. "Eventually. Earlier. I think. "
" The fact that he is not, "chuckled a voice so quiet and stale like the wind potential in a purely theoretical foliage. Emerson was sprawled on the dining table and saw the paneled ceiling was as if the sky on a summer night. He was compared to Patrick's previous encounters with the strange boy next door dressed amazing. The flat silhouette of his body against the rain-pollinated corrugated box in front of inner laughter as a wave just the most incredible point of the cosmos through.
"Who Shyguy has invited and what he and / or him and / or given you? "Patrick pulled a chair from the table back to the couch and sat down on it like soft caramel. Nora rolled with a graceful slowness up from the sofa in an upright position while Søren absorbed in the pillow without moving. Patrick wondered if it first to have the problem of the existential need of oxygen, or breathing would again carry the light of day. Well, the evening light. Afternoon light? It played a role in the boundless gray these days?
"Green Water, "said Nora impressive. It seemed at that moment to explain everything in the world. She blew against a dark streak that landed once again on the spot. Her hand with knobby fingers pointed at the small coffee table. A flat Tonkanne stood on her right Teeofen. The candle was the only light in the room, only now realized Salinger.
Before he could think of an intelligent response, Nora grabbed a cup and filled it. When his thoughts 'Oh, you're ..' arrived, she held the cup against him already with both hands like the Holy Grail, or .. well, a cup without handle indicated. A mug. Exactly. He shook his head. Was it intellectually inconsistent in here or was it just him?
"Green Water," repeated Nora, as he had not understood the first time.
"Whatever," muttered Salinger. Clueless to the consequences and dangers of his actions (up to this in the form of matted beasts who were actually end doors came in, in order to camp on his floor), he took Nora to the ceramic cup from my hand. Her fingers were warmer than the edge of the cup.
The taste in his mouth was in his bitterness edibility of any sublime, but apart from that by and by green tea, which had drawn two to forty minutes too long. Nothing more.
"That stuff is disgusting." Ghastly? Terrible? Monster? Mangy? One of these semantic situations with too many options. He left the theatrical tongue hanging out of the mouth, although he was not that bad.
Søren and Nora giggled and only the branched finger together to form a diagonal weave. Emerson was buzzing, as if Patrick is the voice of an iguana presented. He considered himself to just walk into his room and leave the rest as found. His clear vision swam for a second and suddenly he stood ten feet high above it all and looked from the stratosphere down into the dim living room.
He sat down again as a precaution. At one time he missed any.
A goldfish swam past the lamp through the point structure of the ceiling.
"The fact that we met," Søren put an arm around him, "is a rather metaphorical matter."
"Indeed," Patrick muttered from the corner of my eye he seemed to see how the Emerson reared up from the table.
"The same sorrow with three very different perspectives taken and released and came to the same destination, but with a different result." Søren grinned the nasty grin, which under no circumstances was not to like. He plunged into the waves of the bed cover. Emerson's face was piled up to a dog mask, which reached to the ceiling, leaving behind smoldering fire threads, as he slowly began to weigh in dance.
"no idea what that means," Patrick commented on the shadowy figure on the Ikeawohnzimmertisch and Sorensen drivel. But with imagery that has nothing to do. "
" Søren want to say that he has us all very happy and glad we have taken. "Nora's voice whispering like a leaf, nibbling very close along to his ear. "Moreover, it probably traumatized that he can never fully explain what a metaphor."
The dog's head was dancing wildly on the Emerson nose and his body squirmed around targeted, while Nora and hooted him howling with approval as the Moon and the stars and a night together in a hammock. Wonderful removed unreachable.
"It is more the allegories and symbols and allegory and comparisons, and that I would touch in a moment übereiferten your breasts, Nora, and if it is not the jolly, but narrow relationship of trust between you, me and would ruin Sal. "Søren was zurückgeflutet from the pillow and his arms were around Nora as a necklace.
"You are mistaken and you're right and lift 'you for days on such statements, in which more than green water is in play, "Nora is sprawled awkwardly on his wrists.
"The skeptical man plays good cards from bad," grinned Salinger. He leaned on the couch somewhere between the two and sipped on its second or third cup. cup. Emerson was a celestial body across the living room and rolled around on the floor giggling.
"The thoughtful man wonders if it even has cards, even if they are only metaphors, and whether we will - if yes - can play or played by them." It acted as a whisper in Nora's ear Soren other words, while his voice spoke to Salinger.
«I would now swear by the great minds can, that we drank nothing but green tea," Patrick tried to clear his head across the sea of time to comment ; ern. But the conversations are usually so that it becomes redundant on the other side. "
" itself redundant, "murmured Søren.
"You're obsolete," said Nora.
"I am fluid!" Whispered a voice barking out from under the coffee table.
"We are hypo fluid!" The voices in the room was overturned and burst out laughing together about each other.
seized of a sudden a melody Patrick in the brains and drew his attention to how people take on the chin in order to force them to see one. His imagination saw the melody in the eye and was already lost, no longer able to own Power to solve. The text of the song broke out between his lips as if he were under water and had to expel air, which shot in quivering bubbles to the surface.
"Father can you hear me / this is not how it was meant to be / I am safe and so are you / as for the other's destiny"
And with a slightly used wrongly thought of Søren to to make the song for the canon, it was:
"I believe that situations / all depend on circumstances"
"Look away / Look away" , Nora sang between the two passes into the song and Emerson rose like an awakened demon from the floor and announced,
"Pictures at an Exhibition / played as he stood / in his trance / staring at his inhibitions / all the time believing / that it now came down to nothing but this chance "
swung the fabric of their votes by the rhythm of the canon driven around the room as it serves an additional round was without tearing en mixed, from the depths of the shaman in her song, and accompanied all four voices at once, each with a different tone.
you collapsed into each other and jointly and unanimously to interdependent and panting behind, where the song ended.
"Who was the voice?" Salinger said without specifying the desire to be closer.
"The shaman in my basement." Answered Nora.
"Oh," murmured Søren. "You there, mentioned something."
"You called me a neopseudopaganische desire to mislead Halluzinationsentzug."
"said yes, because what you mentioned," was Søren back before he sank down on the couch to the floor.
"Will you like me to say that I'm in love with you," Nora said with the same vague grin that she had not saved for hours.
Perhaps not know. I would like to "put on Salinger, before he shed, and a monumental sigh to Nora on the couch. But even in the momentary waking states in which you want to pounce on me with your love for the dubious pleasure to earth to draw facts and finally buried that makes you this state of suspension. Even in those moments you confess one you want to you just for the mental comfort of not being alone, could be in love with me. "
" I've probably right. "Nora is verschlängelte in him and put her lips to his. Patrick was now like the next morning to see wrong-headed and full of vim, how long it lasted, or is felt to exist. He was to be the only safe while asleep or shortly thereafter, and the next morning wakes up in the afternoon in his own bed.
By Nora, Søren and Emerson was only the chaos left behind and a polite note that they were traveling in the city. Sighing, Patrick stumbled back cushions and cookie box in his room and to the lower drawer in which lay a gun cabinet lined up on cleaning supplies. It would be a magnificently decked-out massacre.
In his dream he paced high street was up directly in air. Nora was a green colt. She stood high in the sky between the clouds and asked, "Was that really about my state of suspension of you?"
"Do not know."
"Yes or No?"
"I think of Berlin's genius irgendsoeinem child stolen or inspired by their oscillating air snap excesses."
"shit. Even your dream is plagiarism, Salinger. "
" You are guilty of plagiarism. "
Nora braying giggle when Patrick woke up.
Who should affect what type song my protagonists themselves. About sixth from minute
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