Two people made fuck, out on the concreted area in front of the apartments. I recognised the act by her cries. He had her sprawled over a car bonnet with his hand around her throat, and for a few minutes I watched clenching my fists. Do I need to rescue her? is she being raped? is this woman ok?
Were those cries of despair? But then she got up and staggered before him for a minute and lifted away her skirts on either side like a ladybird’s tissuey inner wings. She presented to him her hindquarters and bent herself over with longing. The pale curves of her bottom and thighs were perfect with youth, like two slices of soft long pears from a can. He drew her back into his lap and then she twisted round to kiss. Now and again someone walked past them and they simply froze in place, his place just now being immemorial. A couple of girls strolled by with their cell phones lighted and I feared a filming, an aggression, a posting which would attempt to shame, but the girl walking just ahead lifted her phone and continued a conversation without, apparently, noticing the two there who held down the fort. They rearranged themselves again and she spread herself on her back on the shiny car, her legs like searchlights. He lifted her jumper to cup her breast. It is cold. Next morning I went down to buy bread, because we are Germans now, and passed the chalked square for a parked car where they had set each other alight. The big sprawling dark car was gone and in its place a tiny blue and silver rechargeable, as though the yelping congress in the night had already borne fruit.