No point.

I am done with her, shouts D. and the door bangs behind him. Bang, bang. Hey, say I. but D. doesn’t look at me and so I sit back on my chair, where I have been waiting for the last forty minutes, drinking too much lemonade. And the waiter who appears, with a sly smile, is totally ignored by D. Done. Done. Done., shots D. and bangs, now where the door is closed on the table. Lemonade swaps upon my skirt. And hectically I try to wipe down the sweet juice, D. gets even more angry. Can you just once take me seriously, he barks. I do, I do say I, but D. does not look convinced. Just across the road, he said, there she stood. Looking good, you know. Slim. Tall. Black trousers, red blouse, dark-green parka. I know she is good-looking, D. But of course this is wrong as well. You accuses me D. you have no idea at all. Good looking? She is the most beautiful woman ever been born. Well, I say, D. don’t you overestimate her a little bit? But this was even worse, as D. points his finger at me to carry on, his tirade. Alright, alright, I say, carry on. And again D. curses all the gods who he holds responsible for the mere fact that the most fabulous and true beauty of all the beauties, left him. What he does not mention is the mere fact, that probably not the gods have to be cursed, but an accountant, who did not only send her roses but started to kiss her right behind the elevators, and obviously he kissed quite well, because otherwise I would not have been shouted at by her former boyfriend D., who shortly before he discovered the explosive power elevators possess, bought a quite expensive ring, to ask for her hand. Now the hand are held in a firm grip, if we want to believe D. and the kissing formerly done secretly now took place in the midst of the crowds, among them D. Well, I try again to calm down D. but I won’t succeed. Again he bangs with his fist on the table and I try to save my glass, which of course is wrong and a sign of my very own heartlessness towards D.’s existential life-crisis.  How could she do this to me, he repeats again and again, but who knows beside her? And while just I am there to be shouted at and she is not and probably never will be, D. thinks it is only just to accuse me of coldness and lacking empathy. I try to explain that I am quite tired and quite exhausted but this does not count. And so I leave and do not look back, I even forget my beloved dark blue dotted scarf, but I don’t go back and when the phone rings later,and I see D. ’s name blinking on the screen, I don’t answer. D. knows too well how to hurt me and this does hurt too.

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