11 am

at the bus stop near the lake

an old man sits

with a few cans of beer beside him

he blasts Fleetwood Mac

through a crappy speaker

and sings even louder

a couple looks over

they don’t bother hiding their laughter

then cross to the other side

an older woman

slightly embarrassed

looks away

but something in her softens

even the bus driver

at the wheel

doesn’t look over

just waits till it‘s time to leave

i know that song

i start singing too

a woman next to me

hums along quietly

‚thunder only happens when it’s raining‘

you judge a stranger

in seconds

a word

a gesture

the way he wears his face.

yourself,

you grant

a whole world

of reason.

he’s wearing a mask

reminds me of pandemic times

a hoody over his head

in 34 degrees

sunglasses cover the last few inches of his face

he sits in silence

looking at nobody

or i wouldn’t know better

he comes over

introduces himself as luka

tells me about his beliefs

poseidon

assassin’s creed

and how he used to do parkour

but can’t anymore

because of the meds

he asks me to roll him three cigarettes

one for every emotion he has

he puts his mask back on

takes the three cigarettes

and leaves

love in italy

there‘s a couple

falling in love again

maybe for the fourth time

i hear them laughing

she looks at him

as if he‘s the only man around.

a young policeman notices me,

he smiles, one hand resting on his gun and says

lucky are the ones who find it.

luckier still, those who keep it.

i’m sitting outside a small coffee shop

in the north of italy.

next to me an older italian man

with his dog, not fully grown yet.

or at least it looks that way.

he talks.

i don’t understand a word.

it doesn’t matter.

someone stops to pet the dog.

then another.

then another.

the dog tries to howl.

almost

i order another coffee.

and stay.