Walking the Streets E-Book

B. Hernandez

• Herausgeber: tredition
• Kategorie: Gesellschafts- und Liebesromane
• Sprache: Englisch

Seitenzahl: 455

Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2018

Beschreibung

High demands are placed on every individual person not only by the current world situation, but by everyday life as well. Change has always been a component of mankind's development, but the speed and intensity of this change has increased markedly. In a globalized, high-tech information or data society in which life has become fast, abstract and seemingly very individualized, while at the same time, values and other guidelines are disintegrating or leading to dead-ends, humanity can become frustrating. "Walking the Streets" aims to lead readers along the path of reflection and a discussion of the currently predominant spirit of the times. The book does not claim to offer solutions or deeper insights but aspires to serve as a stimulus and recommendation to readers to take such a "walk" themselves. One of these possible paths is illustrated by John. Thrown off balance by the departure of his friend, he is initially stimulated to reflect on himself. Inevitably, his thoughts then lead him away from himself as an individual and towards societal issues. The focus of the book is ultimately on the issue of blueprinting a life worth living. John's companions, Socrates and Joanna, represent the inner turmoil between logic and emotion during his walk through the streets (of life).

Leseprobe

www.bhernandez.de

B. Hernandez

Walking The Streets

© 2018 B. Hernandez

Cover: B. Hernandez

Translation: Julia Ritter

Publisher: tredition

ISBN

Paperback

978-3-7469-4884-3

Hardcover

978-3-7469-4885-0

eBook

978-3-7469-4886-7

All rights reserved

Original text:

“Das Leben ist ein Spaziergang”

B. Hernandez, 2017

So it was true – the tree had laughed at him. John could have sworn the tree started to laugh as soon as he’d stopped before it. Maybe because this leafbearing pole standing here in the middle of the sidewalk had seen the police car drive up. It could have warned him. Instead, it chose to laugh. John shrugged, leaned against the tree and watched as the cop wrote a ticket. The cop then handed John the ticket with a completely blank expression.

"Public urination is against the law, Mr. Smith. And it doesn’t make a difference how urgently you needed to go or how much you wanted to spare your pants."

"Really? I actually thought, better against a public tree than in my private pants. Isn’t that how it usually works?"

"Mr. Smith, it’s 3.30 in the morning and I'm just doing my job."

"Call me John. No need to be so formal. After all, you’ve watched me pee."

"I don’t think so, Mr. Smith. And I did not watch you pee. I caught you urinating in public. That’s why you’re issued this ticket."

It was 3.30 on a Saturday morning and the police car absolutely had to cross his path on his way home. If he hadn't been drunk, John would have felt extremely pissed off and gotten into quite a rage about the cop's early-morning nitpicking. On the other hand: had he been sober there would have been no need to relieve his beer-and-vodka-filled bladder against the tree. Now, with alcohol still softly soothing his brain and temper like a layer of cotton wool, he only felt peaceful. He took the ticket from the cop's still-outstretched hand.

"Wow. The most costly piss of my life, hands down – or not, as it were. Listen, I'm plastered, doesn't that count as mitigating circumstances? Couldn't I get a discount or something? Pissing while pissed?"

"Sorry, Mr. Smith. Drunk or not, public urination is against the law and there are no discounts on the fine."

"I get it. Justice is blind, even at half past three in the morning. Don't worry, kind sir, I will pay for my misdeed. What is it they say? If you can afford the drink, you can afford the piss."

"Thank you Mr. Smith. Enjoy the rest of the night."

"You, too."

The cop turned his back on John and walked to his car. John watched him for a few seconds.

"That's it? No last admonitions or advice on how to avoid getting in conflict with the law?"

"Good night, Mr. Smith,” the cop said without bothering to stop or turn around.

"Oh, come on! Who if not you is gonna give me some useful advice? Isn't that part of your job?"

Now the cop did turn around, his car door already open. He looked intently at John and then shrugged, a kind smile on his lips.

"Go take a walk. Sober up. Use your toilet.”

With that, he raised his hand, got in his car, and drove off.

John waved after the cop car and did his best to ponder the officer's advice. Well, dumb questions did merit dumb answers. Wasn't that how the saying goes? But there was also this other one: there are no dumb questions. There definitely were.He'd just asked one. The answer made that clear. Though maybe he'd just asked the wrong person. After all, cops weren't the ones making the rules. They just made sure that everybody followed them and fined you if you didn’t.

Anyway, it had probably been the wrong question. In his mind, John tried to phrase the right one, the really pressing one. But his mind wasn't up to the task. The night had been too long, he was too drunk. Instead, he noticed that his hand was still raised and waving at the police car, which he couldn't see or even hear anymore. He dropped his arm and stared into the darkness at the spot where the car had disappeared.

Rules, the system, a full bladder at the wrong time, and on top of that, a gazillion questions. It was all a bit too much for John, this early in the morning.

Especially this particular morning. John had been out to dinner with a group of friends. Usually they were a slaphappy, cheerful bunch, guys who celebrated that much-quoted lightness of being. Or at least they pretended for a few hours to live that lightness. They always talked about living it, for sure. Or how one could go about living it. Should be living it. But today, Alexander went and spoiled it all. Took a sledge hammer to all that lightness and just smashed it to bits. Alexander arrived at the restaurant and announced that he would be boarding a plane and leave for warmer climates in just a few days. He planned to live there cheaply, and when the little money he saved ran out, he would take odd jobs. Maybe he'd live on the streets. Or on the beach. He had canceled the lease for his apartment, quit his job, and sold everything he couldn't fit into a knapsack. Sledge hammer. Obviously, no one believed him. They'd all thought he was pulling their leg. At least they'd agreed that even if he did actually leave, he'd be back within weeks, months at most. But they hadn't been sure about it. And then, as they were saying their goodbyes, Alexander had asked if anyone cared to join him.

John started moving. A little walk didn't seem like such a bad idea right now. The morning was quite crisp. There hadn't been frost for weeks, but the nights were still long and the temperatures only bearable in the sun. Spring crept up hesitantly this year. Still, John wasn't cold. Must be the alcohol in his blood. And his pace, too. He was a city dweller through and through. When he walked, he knew where he was going and did so quickly. But then he almost never walked. At least no farther than the next subway station."Going for a walk" was not part of his usual vocabulary. That's why he was moving quite fast now, too, as if he knew where he was headed. Not caring where he went, he crossed streets, took a right turn, then a left, followed small side streets, passed little parks, and walked across squares. The only thing he really noticed was that the city was virtually dead at this time. He met a few cabs. Here and there a human figure appeared, but they soon disappeared again somewhere in the dark, or he just passed and left them behind.

The longer he moved, the calmer his mind became. Before long, he'd forgotten the ticket in his jacket pocket. Even the impact of Alexander's exit faded until John managed to finally dismiss it as just another occurrence. Aimlessly, he walked the streets. At least that's what he thought. All the greater his surprise as he found himself in front of his mall.

Of course it wasn't "his" mall. Just the mall where he did his shopping every Saturday. He'd return here in a few hours. Right now, the mall was closed. An unfamiliar sight. Not to mention the ambient noise – or lack thereof. All John could hear was the faint burbling of the fountain in front of the main entrance. He stood still for a moment and listened. Normally you couldn't hear that sound over all the babbling voices, car horns, and other noise. Not even if you stood right next to the fountain.

John strolled on until he reached the wide stairs. They led up to the large courtyard in front of the main entrance, with the fountain in the center. The almost circular space wasn't a real courtyard but rather like a very wide passage. From the top of the stairs he had just climbed, John could see the wide, curved mall façade with its host of doors hugging the left semicircle of the courtyard. A tight arrangement of small fast food shops and cafés lined the other half circle. All of them were still closed at this early hour. Exactly opposite from the stairs that led up, mirroring stairs led down to a series of short walkways, which in turn led to the giant mall parking lot that stretched all the way to the canal. John considered hanging around till the mall opened, but it was a bad idea. It would be hours and he was tired. Still, he walked up the rest of the stairs to the courtyard and the fountain in its center. It was pretty big – a circular pool with a wall that went almost to John's hips and a diameter of at least 50 or maybe even 60 feet. The sculpture in the middle was large enough to block the view to the fountain's other side, which made the whole thing seem even bigger.

John was surprised that the burbling didn't seem that much louder up close than before, when he stood quite a bit farther away down at the stairs. He tried to get a closer look of the sculpture in the middle. He'd been here often, yet he'd never really cared to find out what it was supposed to represent. It was a kind of memorial, he vaguely remembered. But however much he tried, he couldn't focus properly. Too drunk. John shrugged and stared instead into the water right in front of him. Almost reverently, he listened to the steady gurgling and sputtering. It was beautiful. Ripples of relaxation went through John's body, mimicking the soft little waves of the fountain. His eyelids started feeling heavier and heavier and finally closed. Slowly, his head sank down on his chest. It was a wonderfully pleasant feeling. Like the very last moment on the verge of consciousness.

It hit John that he was about to fall asleep. Immediately, his whole body jerked awake, his eyelids and head went up, and his arms windmilled through the air. Losing his balance with all this commotion, he staggered backwards, overcompensated and stumbled forward, hit the pool wall and went head first into the water, while his feet stayed firmly on the ground. Startled fully awake by the shock and the cold water, John grabbed the side of the pool and hoisted himself upright.

He had not quite processed what had happened and was still breathing heavily, rubbing water from his eyes, when he was startled yet again.

"What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?"

Someone had shouted at him. Dumbfounded, John stared into the pool and felt his legs give way as he fell backwards on his butt. Standing in the pool in front of him was a bearded and very naked man who stared angrily at him, hands on his hips.

"What the hell are you doing in my bathroom?" the naked guy in the pool repeated.

John kept sitting motionless and wide-eyed on the ground.

"If you didn't come to bring me a towel, get lost!"

John gasped for air. But even after his breathing had returned to normal and he had rubbed his eyes repeatedly he could see the naked guy standing there. Plus, he felt his butt hurt. The fall had been pretty hard. John started shivering in his cold, wet clothes. He stood up carefully and with considerable effort.

"Who are you?" he asked the man in the pool as he straightened.

"Nobody. Got a towel?"

John looked around as if to check for a towel somewhere on the floor.

"Unfortunately not. I could use one myself right now."

"I don't care. Get out of my bathroom."

"Wha–? This is no bathroom, it's a fountain and …"

"Are you drunk? You smell of booze. And why else would you fall into my bathtub? Just get lost!"

"Again, this is not a bathtub and it's none of your business …"

"Don't talk to me while you're drunk. Take a hike!"

"Okay, okay, slow down. Yes, I have had a few drinks and I'm sorry I fell into your bathtub … into the pool. I didn't do it on purpose. My name is John. And you are?"

"Pissed off. And late for my morning ablutions, thanks to you. Come back when you've sobered up."

With this, the man turned his back on John and waded away through the water.

"And don’t forget my towel next time!" he shouted over his shoulder.

John just stood there and watched him disappear behind the sculpture in the fountain's center. That must be where he'd come from in the first place. John shook his head. This for sure was new. A naked, bearded guy taking a bath in a freezing fountain pool, telling him off and demanding he bring him a towel. It was so weird that John started to chuckle. Laughing felt like a release. Maybe that was just because he was so tired and had started to shiver all over from the cold.

For a moment he thought about going around the fountain to talk to the man again. But the guy had been pretty clear. John turned instead and walked down the stairs and along the small side streets to the main road passing the mall. There was a lot more traffic already. He set off in the general direction of his home, hoping to find a cab pretty soon. Before long, he got lucky and stopped a bored-looking cab driver who didn't even seem to wonder about John's wet hair and clothes – much less care to ask him about them.

When he finally got home, John took a hot shower and then snuggled up on the couch in front of the TV. He fell asleep before he could even notice what was on.

It was already shortly after noon when John woke up again and turned off the TV. His head ached and he felt nauseated. Most nights, he'd have a few beers and his body spared him the unpleasant and no less savory reminders the morning after. But last night, beers hadn't been enough to blunt the shock of Alexander's farewell. John dragged himself to the bathroom and under the shower. Alexander wouldn't be gone forever. Certainly not. No one would just pick up and leave. At least no one John knew. He let minutes pass by as the hot, prickling shower massaged his scalp and neck, the water enveloping his entire body like a close and pleasantly warm embrace as it flowed down and disappeared into the drain. Afterwards, he felt slightly better and got dressed.

He went to the kitchen, shoved a couple of prebaked buns into the oven and watched through the glass door as they slowly went up and turned brown. It was a wonderful sight and John felt immediately uplifted. Warm buns were the best. Ever since he'd started seeing Izzie more or less regularly, he was well supplied with baked goods. Izzie worked in a bakery and never came by without bringing him a little something from the shop. Out of pure sympathy, as she liked to say. Because it was the only human touch in his entire apartment. Needless to say that she didn't care too much about his place. Too big, too modern, the walls too white, the decor too cold and impersonal – whatever that was supposed to mean. Not to mention the of gadgetry and the fact that the building was in the wrong part of town. John lived in the city center, which was surrounded by the river on one side and the canal on the other, which earned it the name "the Island". As if that wasn't enough, he lived in the northern part of the Island, purported to be the "upscale" neighborhood. And when Izzie said "upscale", she made it clear that there was nothing good about that. But well, John didn't care about Izzie's complaints as long as he got his fresh buns. He just loved their smell. Maybe in part because that particular smell usually filled the air after he had sex with Izzie. Last time, though, they had met at her place. Which is why he had to resort to the pre-baked buns that morning.

Only now did it occur to him that he should have called Izzie the day before. Actually, he should have called her some time ago but kept forgetting. He definitely had to do that today.

The buns on the other side of the oven door were almost done. John took a deep breath and inhaled their aroma. He took the first one from the oven, cut it open, buttered both halves, waited a bit until the butter had melted into a thin layer, and took a big bite out of one half. A deep and deeply satisfied sigh escaped John even before he started chewing.

After devouring the rest of his buns in front of the TV – a rerun of last night's game – he got ready to go shopping. On weekdays, he bought whatever he needed urgently at the shops around the corner or near his office. Today was Saturday, though, and on Saturdays he indulged in a nice long visit to the mall. The very mall he'd come by in the wee hours. John smiled as he remembered what had happened. His smile quickly faded when he put on his jacket, checked his wallet and found last night's ticket. He rolled his eyes, dropped the slip of paper on the floor, and left. He had planned to make a mental grocery list but instead he just walked on, thinking of other things.

Like Alexander's announcement. That had really been something. And John had almost missed hearing the shocking news. If his day at the bank where he worked as an oversea bond broker from noon to midnight had been just a little bit busier, he would have cancelled the night at the club. After all, those nights with his buddies weren't a binding commitment. Everybody had too many of those in their lives. You didn't want to burden your valuable free time with another one. Plus, John considered only a few of those present as real buddies. Some former colleagues, a neighbor from back when, friends of friends. Of all these people, Alexander was the only one he felt actually close to. In fact, John considered him one of his best friends. They knew each other from college and worked in the same industry, albeit for different companies. Alexander hadn't even told him when exactly his plane would be leaving, let alone where to. He only said that it was his last meal with them because he’d relocate to warmer climates, an island somewhere, for good. He'd figure out how to get by when he got there. All he wanted was to live the simple life and be satisfied with what he had.

John had reached the pedestrian light at the large crossroads near the mall. He just needed to cross the street and then take a left, that would take him directly to the large stairs he'd been at the night before – or rather, that same morning.

The lights changed to green. John was about to take a step onto the road, but stopped. Other pedestrians pushed past him. Some of them cursed as he blocked their way.

The light went back to red. John watched the cars rush past from both directions. Noise rained down on him: engines, car horns, and the vague static of the city. It had been a long time since he had really, consciously heard all that. He didn't actually need to buy anything. He had enough stuff at home and usually ate out somewhere, anyway.

A bit surreptitiously, John glanced up to check whether he could see a plane somewhere. There actually were some crossing the great blue sky – but for sure it was unlikely that Alexander was aboard any one of them. Alexander had a very good job. And it wasn't as if he'd have to flee a bad relationship – he was single. No known illnesses, either. Alexander's life had been good. Or had it?

John kept walking down the street. It led him south of the Island through the Financial District into the neighborhood called "Newtown", where the canal met the river. The bakery where Izzie worked was down here, too. He once again remembered that he should have called her. Well, at least this gave him a destination. Izzie worked on weekends. From early morning until the afternoon, as always. He glanced at his watch: it was late afternoon. He knew for sure that Izzie's shift would be over by now, but still he kept walking in the direction of the bakery. Maybe she would still be there after all.

His headache had lifted a little. No amount of drink had led Alexander to divulge any more information about his plans, let alone to dissuade him from going through with them. Sure, they had all been fantasizing time and again about leaving the daily grind behind. They had all kinds of crazy ideas how they'd like to live the rest of their lives. Parallel universes. Alternate realities of practically inexistent probability. Mind games. Male consolation bonding. Things like opening a bar. Or a diving school. Living in a cave far away from it all, all the rules and systems, a free and autonomous existence. Real life. But it had been no more than therapeutic nonsense. Night-shade dreams that wouldn't survive until morning.

Alexander used to say that they all missed out on the true wealth life had to offer and that none of them were doing anything about it. As long as human beings didn't need to worry about the barest necessities, he said, the governing doctrine would continue to work. But that didn't mean that he, Alexander, had to follow the herd and keep prostituting himself to some employer. He'd always thought that mankind's misery was obvious. Just look around you, he'd said. Does anybody seem trulyhappy? Or even satisfied? All you see in their faces is numbness and routine. They're indifferent. They just put up with it. They're dead. Everyone has some kind of psychological condition: burnout, bore-out, ADHS, all the other diagnoses, and the pharmaceutical companies sell lots of pills that are supposed to help. And if you don't like to take pills, you run a marathon through the desert, climb some ridiculously high mountain or join one of those ultra-modern gyms and work out till you break down. Just to get that next finisher shirt or at least the sweet consolation of utter exhaustion.

Most of the guys, John included, had taken these verbal outbreaks as the usual – and usually amusing – beer–fueled tirades, though they didn't always follow his arguments. Yet for Alexander, it must have been the long lead-up to his exit. It seemed as if he hadn't enjoyed to be a human being anymore.

John strolled on for a few minutes, lost in thought, before the well-known aroma of fresh bread distracted him from this latest upheaval of his worldview. He had reached the bakery in Newtown. Stopping for a moment, he pretended to be interested in the goods displayed in the shop window while he breathed in a bit more of the wonderful scent.

Then he stepped inside and joined the short line at the counter, even letting two other customers who had entered the shop after him get in line before him. All the while he took deep, appreciative breaths. That smell! Like an ocean you could just dive into.

John patiently waited until everybody had been served and one of Izzie's colleagues had time for him. She recognized him right away. John asked for Izzie but as he'd expected, she had left a while ago. She probably went home, the girl behind the counted told him. John nodded, smiling softly and enjoying the aromatic bakery air.

With a freshly baked bun in one hand and a paper bag containing half a dozen more under his arm he finally stepped out of the shop onto the street. Focusing all his attention on the delightful bun, he chewed as he walked on.

It wasn't like bread was some new-fangled invention. Still, he had spent the better part of his adult life ignorant of such bliss. Ever since he left his parents’ home, he had only bought the soft, pre-packed, sliced kind. And to be honest, he couldn't even recall whether he'd ever had fresh bread as a kid. It was Izzie who'd got him hooked on the real deal. John thought back to the first time she'd made fresh buns for him. She hadn't let him in on the secret of refrigerated buns, let alone fresh-made buns, from the very start. Oh, no. They had been seeing each other for quite a while before she deigned to enlighten him. In those first few weeks, they had done the usual stuff couples did: go to the farmers’ market, cook meals together – or rather, Izzie had cooked while John had stood in her way –, meet friends at parties, and go to the movies. They'd also gone ice skating on one of the brinks the city set up in various parks in the winter. Those brinks were much too small and crowded to even hint at the romanticism such places always seemed to be imbued with in the movies. Still, it had been fun. In fact, John had been surprised how much he enjoyed falling on the hard ice with Izzie.

And of course they also had sex. Sex was hands down the one activity they had indulged in most until now. Or until that weekend when Izzie had been off work. A great occasion for them to spend two whole days together. John would have been content to stay in bed all day – or close to the bed, anyway – and have lots of sex. But Izzie had suggested that weekend together and so he'd left the planning to her.

Of course he should have known better. Izzie not only had a completely different sleep pattern than himself, her idea of how to spend two free days together also differed quite a bit from his. She’d decided that the best thing to do on a Saturday morning was go for a run.

John could still feel the agony. She'd told him to pick her up at 5.30 in the morning. He arrived dead tired, having barely slept at all. Not to mention that he hated running. Back then, he'd been about as fit as a guy with an office job and a penchant for steak and fries whose main contact with sports was the TV screen at his favorite bars could be. On his way over he'd considered calling the whole thing off.

But he didn't. He went over to her place and even arrived on time. He had thought about ways to dissuade her from the run, though. No sooner had Izzie opened her door than his anti-running plot dissolved into thin air. He could still picture it. Izzie, standing in the door and smiling at him – fresh, alert, and brimming with energy. Her running outfit left him gasping for breath before he'd even started running. A tight-fitting, midriff-baring tank top, tight running pants ending above the knees, and matching head- and sweatbands. John just stood there, feeling like a black hole sucking up all the light, warmth, and energy of this amazing sun beside him. Or at least trying to.

"I didn't think you'd show up. And even on time," Izzie said in lieu of a greeting.

They had barely left Izzie's front yard and crossed the street when John already started wishing he'd never been born. He was panting and very aware of his pulse hammering inside his carotid arteries. His legs felt as if they might just give out any second. All the while, Izzie was jogging lightly beside him, chatting along. John focused all his attention on staying upright and didn't hear a word she was saying. He vaguely remembered that they'd jogged along the canal for a while, crossed a bridge and went back on the other side of the canal before crossing it again somehow and running back to Izzie's place.

The whole time John tried to hide how intensely he was suffering. Izzie had of course seen right away that his running shoes hadn't seen much action and were more of a piece of decoration in his closet. At least she didn't comment on it. But nor did she cut John any slack. His legs and his lungs were burning, his feet were in agony, and his shoulders hurt. There came a point when the exhaustion was so intense that he could barely see. All that kept him from collapsing was his fear of looking like a wimp and Izzie's voice, which he held on to for orientation. He pulled himself together and made it to the end of the round.

Back at her apartment, Izzie did a few stretching exercises that John skipped. Instead, he collapsed on her couch and fell asleep immediately. The next thing he remembered was being kissed awake. Lost between sleep and consciousness, he opened his eyes to see Izzie sitting next to him, in fresh clothes and with her hair still wet from the shower. She smiled at him and stroked his cheek. John took a deep breath and started to smile – and that was when he smelled the buns. Fragrant, fresh-baked buns, sitting on a tablet along with butter, jam, yoghurt, a glass of milk, and a glass of orange juice on the couch table. John's breath caught and he froze. He'd never told Izzie this, but at that moment he almost burst into tears.

He'd been absolutely exhausted, his whole body was aching, and he was so hungry his stomach hurt – and there was beautiful Izzie sitting right next to him, babbling on like a waterfall and buttering a fresh-baked bun for him. To John it had felt like a touch of heaven. The smell alone had been overwhelming. But when Izzie let him take a bite of the bun and he started chewing, there was this magical wave of wellbeing that swept through his entire body. That was the day he fell for fresh-baked, warm buns. He couldn't imagine ever living his life without them again.

John smiled and fished another bun from the bag under his arm. He still hadn't called Izzie. But he didn't want to do that out here on the street. He certainly didn't want to be one of those people who seemed to like it when others listened in on their conversations. Who made them listen, whether or not they wanted to. He'd have to find somewhere private for his call.

John stopped to take a look around and realized that he was right on the Newtown Bridge, close to his office building. Funny how that worked: yesterday, or rather, early that morning, he'd automatically walked to the mall. And now, his steps had automatically taken him to his office. Whenever he decided to try new, unknown routes or at least walk aimlessly, he ended up on the old, much-trodden paths. He thought about turning around but crossed the bridge instead, leaving the Island behind. From afar he could see the top of the office building sporting his company's logo. He could take the subway near his office and go home. If it had been a weekday, he'd start working around this time in the afternoon.

When he'd taken the job after two stints as a stock analyst that turned out to be both tiresome and boring, he'd had a tough time adjusting to the new rhythm. At first it had felt as if all he did was work or sleep. Not because he worked long hours. He'd just slept a lot. He'd always felt tired. Keeping a very strict schedule had helped. After a while, he had managed to adapt. Now he got up shortly after noon, started work in the afternoon, came home after midnight, and went to bed between four and five in the morning.

Still, adjusting to this new schedule had been hard as he could do little more than watch TV in his waking hours. At least after work. It wasn’t that John minded watching TV – in fact, he’d always enjoyed it. But the morning programs weren't exactly thrilling, and he'd had trouble staying awake.

That changed when he started seeing Izzie some months ago. He'd actually come to enjoy his work-dictated daily rhythm. At least he'd started to appreciate its benefits. Izzie’s shift usually started at five in the morning and she got off work around one or two in the afternoon. On days they decided to meet, Izzie would get up a little earlier so she could see John when he got back from the office. She would stay until it was time to head to the bakery, at which point John was about ready for bed. Sometimes, they turned things around and met when Izzie got off work and John had just got up. However, that only worked on his days off. Usually that meant on the weekend. But only if he didn't fail to catch her at the bakery, as he had now.

He had the feeling Izzie liked this arrangement, too. She did despise his job and the whole industry but was far less outspoken about it than she was in criticizing his apartment. Only now and then did she comment that it was only the cheap stuff money could buy and making money by manipulating money was as low as one could possibly get – but if it made him happy, it couldn’t be that bad after all. Her words sometimes rang in his ears as he paid for dinner or the movies.

“Dinner is cheap, my dear, but my presence is something you need to work for and be able to afford,” she’d answer every time he mentioned it.

It wasn’t as if she could get by without money. Maybe it didn’t make her happy. But she’d be pretty unhappy without it.

During the week, John had also started to work out in his spare time. At least now and then. After the jogging incident with Izzie he had started to get fitter. He usually went to the gym for a bit of cardio and weight training. Sometimes he went for a run. He still hated running, but the hatred was interspersed with a wonderful feeling as it reminded him of his first buns. Following his early-morning disaster with Izzie he even vowed to start training for the annual marathon. But he let that idea drop pretty soon. Actually, it had been Izzie who had dissuaded him. She told him to keep running but not for a marathon – much better to do it to keep healthy or even for her. But for a marathon? Better to leave it altogether.

There were times when he really couldn’t make heads nor tails of her. Again, the thought that he should have called her, should call her now, crossed his mind. However, he had already reached the subway station. He'd call her when he got home. He took the train. At home, he settled in front of the TV for a bit of rest after his long walk. The same rehash of the game he’d seen earlier was on.

A few hours had passed as he awoke on his couch, the TV still on and showing a live broadcast from another game. John watched for a while. It was boring, yet oddly comforting.

His headache was gone, but now he felt dazed and cranky. That was the drawback of irregular sleep patterns – they messed up your whole system. Plus, he was hungry.

John went out for a bite to eat. He still hadn't called Izzie, but he wasn’t in the mood for it now. Anyway, it was too late. She’d have to work tomorrow and was probably already asleep. He would drop in at the bakery the next morning.

He went to the bar that had become his regular hangout over the last few years. The bar staff and the other regulars greeted him. John took a seat at their table. He didn’t even have to place his order because the staff new his pleasure by now. His fellow patrons were well into their glasses. John hoped that a bit of company, a steak, and a few beers would lift him up as it usually did. But it didn’t seem to work. John ate, drank, he watched a game on one of the many screens, he talked. Nothing made him feel any better.

Finally he looked around the bar for some female company to while away his time with. He wasn’t planning on picking up a woman, but a little flirt might be a welcome distraction. There had been times when a Saturday night without a pickup spelled failure. That had changed since Izzie. Especially since she knew few inhibitions in bed. She’d surprised him there.

Truth be told, he didn’t know all that much about her. He didn’t even know what exactly it was, that thing between them. But he had fun with her, no doubt about that.

Contrary to the present situation – John very much doubted that he’d have fun tonight at the bar. Taking a closer look at the clientele, he began to doubt he'd ever had. All their cheering and laughing was just alcohol-induced. The quiet ones with their heads down and their stares fixed on their glasses were either too drunk or too glum to laugh or cheer. The ones who flirted were too spruced up to hide their desperation. The staff were only cheerful because they got paid for it. The only ones who looked like they were really enjoying themselves were a group of young people John had never seen here before. They seemed to be celebrating something, maybe someone’s graduation or birthday. Or maybe just the fact that they were young and carefree. John didn’t begrudge them their happiness. After all, “carefree” was just another word for “inexperienced” or “ignorant”. They would find out what life was really like. Just give them time. And once they did, they would stop partying without a care in the world and start having guys’ nights and girls’ nights.

He ordered another beer. Maybe Alexander’s age was to blame for his decision to leave. Classic midlife crisis. He’d just yearned to feel young and careless again. Smiling warmly, the waitress placed John’s beer in front of him. John tipped her generously and slid the untouched beer over to his drunk neighbor, who thanked him effusively if somewhat unintelligibly. John nodded and left. He hailed a cab and gave the driver his home address.

En route to his street, he changed his mind and told the cabbie to drive him to Izzie's. It was just after one a.m. when John arrived at her place. He had no idea why he’d come here. Izzie would surely be asleep at this time of night. Waiting out in the cold until she left for work wasn't the best plan, either. It was no use calling her as she always switched off her phone before going to bed. Or at least she hardly ever picked it up at night. He knew that. He could of course just ring the bell and wake her. But he’d need a very good explanation for that. John took a walk around the block but didn't come up with a good idea.

As he approached Izzie’s building, though, he saw light in her living room window. John was surprised – Izzie never left the light on – but didn’t think too much of it. He decided to ring. After all, the light had given him a good reason. Still, he hesitated. It was now just after one a.m. and highly unlikely that Izzie expected him. And yet there was light in her apartment. She must be up for other reasons than a meeting with him.

His head bowed and his fist in his pocket, John went to find another taxi to drive him home. Lying on his couch, he drank another beer and watched the reflection of the TV flicker across his living room ceiling. After a while, this spectacle began to absorb his mind until he focused only on the dancing splotches of color and felt a tender tiredness spread through his body.

He'd called Izzie at the bakery right after waking up the next morning, or rather, noon, catching her just in time before her shift ended. Izzie couldn’t talk long at work so they'd agreed to meet in their usual café at the mall.

Now, they were sitting across from each other and drinking coffee. If not for the charged atmosphere between them, it would have felt like a cozy Sunday-afternoon ritual.

“Why didn't you call earlier?"

“Izzie, I told you I’m sorry. I just forgot, okay? It’s not as if you’ve been pining for me.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

John shrugged sheepishly. He apologized for the remark and, yet again, for not calling earlier. The last thing he needed this weekend was a row with Izzie. The afternoon sun was shining on their table outside the café. The weather wasn't quite warm yet but winter finally seemed to be over. John told Izzie about Alexander and his decision, hoping it would distract her into forgiving and forgetting.

“He'll be off by now, probably on a plane to wherever it is he thinks he needs to go.”

“Actually, John, I admire him a little for taking that step.”

“You’re kidding, right?”

“No. Yes, it sounds a bit extreme, quite dramatic in fact. But still, kudos for him. I wish him all the best. I respect and admire him. I’m even a bit envious.”

“Well, you could have gone with him. He asked if anyone wanted to come. Hell, you might still catch up with him if you're so thrilled by the whole thing. Complete bullshit, if you ask me.”

“Johnny, dearest, that’s what I like about you: you look like the quintessential limp-wristed urban lemming but you can’t keep your caveman instincts in check for long. Whenever you sense some threat to your territory you go into attack mode. A typical male. So cute.”

“Very funny. As if I cared what Alex does. Let him leave. Never hold up travelers.”

“Oh. I must have hit a nerve there.”

“Not at all.”

“Still, this whole thing seems to bother you more than you care to admit.”

“Nonsense. I just told you to make you forget you’re mad at me. Anyway, he’ll be back. I’ll give him a few weeks, maybe a bit more.”

“Do you really think so?”

“I don’t know. No one just drops everything and leaves. I’m sure he just needs some time out.”

“Maybe. By the way, I’m glad you care whether I’m mad at you.”

“Of course I care! You're my fresh-bun connection, after all.”

“You could just go ahead and buy some.”

“They don’t taste as good as when you bring them.”

“I have a bunch at home. You can take them later when you leave.”

She said with a broad smile as she stood up. Overly excited, John almost jumped out of his chair, hitting his knee on the table. How right Izzie was: typical male. Eager to regain his composure, he let Izzie take his arm. She lived across the canal, not too far from the café, though at her pace it would take them a while to get there.

They passed some of the few remaining abandoned factory buildings still lining the canal. Most of them were condemned and dilapidated, their walls sprayed with graffiti, their windows smashed in or just broken.

It was a widely known hangout for the homeless. Every time the city or some real estate developer planned a major building project on the canal, the squatters had to go. The last time this happened was when the mall, where they both did their shopping and where they just had a coffee together, was built.

John remembered his strange encounter with the naked man in the fountain early in the morning. Maybe he had been homeless, too. That would make sense. He told Izzie about the guy. She laughed and commiserated a little with John. It sure had been a tough weekend for him, she said. First his buddy takes off and then he gets spooked by a naked man in a fountain. She’d have to see if there was anything she could do about it once they got to her place. That for sure made John quickly forget Naked Guy. From the first time he’d been with Izzie, he was under her spell between the sheets. He hated that. And loved it, too.

At Izzie's, she led him right to her bedroom. Slowly she undressed for him. He loved every second of it. She loved it even more. Then she helped him undress. It drove him crazy. For a long moment they stood facing each other, very close but not touching. He could feel the warmth radiating from her body all over his own. Her gentle breath caressed his neck. He smelled her hair. It was torture. Wonderful, glorious torture.

“Take me,” she whispered at last.

And even though Izzie lay down on the bed and accepted him in total abandonment, seeming to give her body over fully to his will, John sensed – in fact, he was almost certain – that it was he who was giving himself, not vice versa. That all this was done for her pleasure and she wanted him to know that. He could barely contain himself. He would have liked to rip her soft, warm skin open with his teeth and lap up her blood. He drove into her with all his might. He wanted to own her. But no matter how strong he felt, how physically superior as he pulsated inside her, at the very climax John realized that he was utterly powerless. While she had consciously and temporarily given up control, he had lost his completely. His desire for Izzie, this lust for her that she could stir up seemingly without effort, had overpowered him yet again. The very moment that he’d greedily thought he was taking Izzie, he knew exactly that she was the one taking what she wanted of him. That was what made her so wonderful and at the same time frightening.

As they lay spooning afterwards, exhausted, John asked: “Do you really think he won’t come back?”

“No idea. You know him better than I do. He’s your friend.”

“People don’t just leave. It’s pretty good here.”

They lay in silence for a while, their skin touching, their breath synchronized.

“Do you know why he left?” Izzie finally asked.

“Huh. Because he wanted to be somewhere else?”

“That’s not a good answer.”

“Mid-life crisis?”

Izzie wriggled out of John’s embrace and turned to face him.

“I know someone who might be able to tell you.”

“Sounds mysterious.”

“That Neptune guy in the fountain you claim to have met.”

John laughed. They stayed there for a while, discussing whether John should grow a beard like Mr. Neptune. Finally, Izzie got out of bed. She had an early day tomorrow so their evening was over. As promised, she packed up some buns for John. Then she sent him off with a kiss at the door.

Out on the street, John considered walking for a few blocks but decided he’d walked enough that day. He hailed a cab and gave the driver his address.

Back home, he fixed himself an instant soup and ate it in front of the TV with one of Izzie’s dinner buns. Then he switched off the TV and went to bed.

Around noon on Monday he woke up and decided to hit the new week running – literally. He'd go for a jog. The last few weeks had been too chilly for outdoor workouts, but if he ever wanted to go running with Izzie again without failing miserably, he’d have to start getting fit.

He was greeted by early spring sunshine and air that was, to his slight chagrin, balmy enough for outdoor sports. He jogged for about twenty minutes in the park near his home. His lungs were unaccustomed to physical exertion, as was the rest of his body. He didn’t run half as fast as he had with Izzie, and still it was straining.

“Holy shit,” John thought as he stood hunched over in his living room, coughing so hard he started to choke. Before the winter he had been in relatively good shape for a guy his age. He was in his mid-thirties, after all, so no spring chicken. But now it was all gone.

A hot shower helped. Feeling a little better, he got ready for work.

He hated not being able to keep up with Izzie. Or maybe “hated” was the wrong word. But it definitely hurt his pride when she outpaced him – and not only when they went running. He felt inferior to her in many ways. She never rubbed his nose in it or otherwise called attention to it. It was just hard to feel like a man with her, at least for John. But why was that? Yes, Izzie liked to needle him a bit, but she was never aggressive. And the sex was great – at least on this front he had no problem holding his own. It was her entire being, her Izzieness, that had such an impact on John, though he couldn’t exactly pin down what made her so fascinating.

Shortly after one a.m. he returned home after a monotonous and uninspiring day, or rather, night, at the office. Unlike other nights, however, he did not feel dull but wide awake and even a bit euphoric. On his way home, he’d decided to visit the fountain later that night. He wanted to meet Naked Guy, just as Izzie has suggested.

Having walked to the mall, John made straight for the fountain and went several times around it. Naked Guy was nowhere to be seen. John widened his search perimeter and looked all over. He went down the wide stairs on both sides of the courtyard, then up again. He even patrolled the footways all the way to the parking lot on one side.

After a long and disappointing search, he sat down on the edge of the fountain. He would just wait for the guy. After all, last time it was he who’d found John, not vice versa. John curled up and hid his hands in his armpits. Sitting still, he started to feel the cold. He yawned. The mall’s lobby was brightly lit, of course, but outside the range of the lights everything was dark.

Cold from sitting there, he got back up and walked around the fountain once again. And another round, beating his arms against his chest to keep warm. He could feel his stomach growling – he should have eaten before heading out here. John had trouble keeping his eyes open. He was cold. The only thing keeping him from falling asleep on his feet was this hungry feeling. He dragged himself around the fountain a few more times, more to stay awake and at least marginally warm than because he thought the man would show up.

It was beginning to dawn. Just as he was about to sit down again, John saw a figure move across the parking lot towards the fountain. Exhaustion, hunger, and cold were instantly wiped from his mind before he realized that it couldn’t be the fountain man. John saw the figure pull out a key, open one of the smaller doors next to the main mall entrance, and disappear inside. Probably someone who worked there, someone in charge of getting everything ready before the shoppers came.

Frustrated, John walked down the stairs in front of the main entrance and headed towards the subway station. The whole thing had been a disappointing waste of time. All he wanted to do was go home.

When he reached the station, however, he walked past it to the major road, hailed a cab and told the driver the address of Izzie’s bakery.

There were only a few customers in front of the counter this early in the morning. Izzie saw him as he walked in, gave him a short wave and finished serving her customer before asking a colleague to take over. John waited in a quiet corner near the shop window.

“What are you doing here? Did anything happen?”

“He didn’t show.”

“Who didn’t show?”

“The naked guy. He wasn’t at the fountain.”

“Is that why you look so beat? Did you wait for him the whole night?”

“More or less. Fool me. It was a dumb idea.”

“Why? Just try again tomorrow.”

Wide-eyed, John stared at Izzie.

“What, John? Naked bearded guys in fountains tend to be a bit unpredictable.”

John searched her face, unsure whether she had listened to him. He'd just spent hours waiting, freezing, and starving at that fountain. It was way past his bedtime and he was just exhausted. And she wanted him to do it all again? She seemed to be serious, though. John stretched his back and rubbed his nose.

“Yeah, sure, I was planning to try again some other time, anyway. Just came by to tell you I had no luck today.”

Izzie nodded, thanked John for dropping by and told him she had to go back to work. First, though, she went to the back of the shop and returned with two fresh, warm buns. He finished the first one before the shop door closed behind him.

Izzie was right, of course. It was stupid to assume that today would be another bathing day for Naked Guy. John didn’t know the man, after all. Maybe he was just some eccentric tourist who had long since left the city. Still, John would return to the fountain and get to the bottom of this.

Despite having slept only a few short hours, John felt awake and alert at work. For his next visit to the fountain he wanted to be prepared. First of all, he would bring a warmer jacket. And a blanket. He would buy that in his lunch hour, which in his case was in the evening. John also bought a thermos – he planned to take hot coffee, a sandwich, half a dozen doughnuts and some sports magazines on his expedition so he wouldn't get hungry or bored.

Home from work shortly after midnight, he got everything ready. He packed a bag with the blanket, his supplies, and his reading material and placed it next to his front door so he'd just have to grab it on his way out. Then he got a pizza to go from the little joint around the corner so he wouldn't be hungry when he arrived at the fountain. He ate in front of the TV, zapping through the muted channels. Just like the night before, he was nervous and almost sure he would meet the naked man.