‘It’s quite funny, isn’t it? How things move back and forth in the heart, in the mind, until they settle somewhere deep inside’, the words coming out easy between the two strangers in the night seated by the counter of this, yet another, beautifully oil-preserved, Mahogany bar. It is surprisingly easy to reveal one’s deepest thoughts and elucidations amid the ones that have not once before met. No backgrounds to keep into account, no further information but what physical presence provides. There would not be exchange of numbers nor family names. This is merely a safe space to steam off the mind, the heart, the head. Things can get, oh, so very easily misunderstood and carried away, but, not in this set. Not between the two that would never meet again. The two glasses in front of them have been refilled more than once by now, and the time to close the encounter narrows down onto them. She has been here before, in this exact same scene, and she knows about the temporary nature of this condition of being strangers. Before one of the two feels the need of an exchange of ciphers and letters. Nothing heals while conceal, and, that is what all this was about. He is unhappy and married, she is from the above none, both crave for company every once in a while. On a moment in which both set of eyes lock into each other two seconds longer than before, she smiles, collects her belongings and wishes him goodnight. What could be done has been done. Ain’t it quite some special this solace of meeting strangers.

Strangers in the night. Short-story from ‘12 o’clock-tales’ (The red table and a scared black cat, book adventure)

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