© Christher Schütz

October. The autumn storm had lulled during the night and fallen asleep of pure exhaustion. The city was embedded in a thick cover of mist which only the church tower had succeded to penetrate, like a phallus that had risen from a sea of steaming seed. A young man came walking down the pavement and his black shoes were eating their way through the froth. He was the Tight-rope Walker at the Blunt Knife's Edge, after all not particularly worried to step askew and fall astride of the blade.
    He had been awake all night, but he was not tired. During the night his only wish had come true. His only dream had become fulfilled. And still he felt the emptiness pound inside his breast. Marlene's redeeming lips had paralysed him. Sucked out all his powers and left him like a crumpled glove, forgotten in a darkened ice-rink. He had kissed the most beautiful star in the autumn sky.
    The sterile neon lights of the streetlamps were gropingly caressing their way through the fog, helping the dawn to push the night aside. The streets were still desert, and the trees in the gardens had still not been woken by the cars' neurotic panting. He was kicked around the leaves on the rainwet asphalt and he felt a burning pain in his heart. A crimson maple leaf clung to his shoe and he vainly tried to kick it off. He stopped to lift his other foot, and balansing on one leg he succeeded to scrape off the wet leaf back down to the ground. Then something occured to him and he bent down to pick it up again. He held it in his hand and watched it carefully. Turned it around. Felt it. Smelt it.
    He stood there for a long time and let the sweet scent fill his lungs. He closed his eyes and kissed the shivering leaf with a smile. Then he softly put it in the pocket of his jacket and walked on.