The shred of blue sky that was revealed after this afternoon's rain slowly receded from the view as I sat on the S-Bahn back home. The day was a day of usual business with an early Monday morning start and a late Monday afternoon end. Sitting in front of me was the girl with whom I had inadvertently chatted up a few weeks earlier - she reclined lazily on her seat, swaying rhythmically as the cabin moved forth.
I looked around at those who were sharing the ride - a lady in her winter clothing was swiping her phone, and a dog laid between the seats that were behind mine. The loud speakers of the train announced the stations I passed by as dutifully as the first time I heard the announcements almost two years ago. I put my hands snuggly in the pockets and babbled some words to the girl and she babbled some words back - there was a particular instant in these babbles when I felt that, everything, the train, the people, the dog and all of these selfsame routines seemed to brim with a certain softness. I smiled and then peeked away.
I had no idea what I would do when I would be back from work. Nothing in my apartment room still amazed me, and nothing I could do in my apartment could amaze me. I drifted out from the apartment every morning, and drifted into the apartment every evening. The apartment was an instrument through which days transitioned into other days. But its mereness did not disconcert me - on the dotted blue S-Bahn chair I eventlessly and happily sat, waiting for the station where I could then transfer to an U-Bahn.
The sky dimmed a little as the sunset neared. The traffic lights and the tail- and headlights of cars began to stand out. Though it wasn't so much of a dazzle - through the tired eyes of a long day in the office, nothing could dazzle. But nonetheless it made the city, and subsequently me, slightly more alive.
The train gradually slowed down as it approached the Harras S-Bahn station. I got off, and took a long deep breath of the crisp wintry air. When I waited in the morning on this platform, the sun shone from the east through the trees. By the evening the trees had turned into silhouettes, impatient like the weariness of a late afterwork crowd. The girl was still following me. Her walk was a bit slower than usual, as was mine and everyone else's. But her dotted coat looked merry amongst the sea of black and grays. I tried to conjure up some words to say to her but couldn't bring about any of them - there wasn't anything in this world that was so novel that I had to say it out loud. Thus I kept on walking straight, but not so straight as to appear nonchalant.
On the escalator down to the U-Bahn station, I faintly remembered some quote about shooting stars. It said that there would occasionally in life be shooting stars, upon which we would make our wishes and then let disappear. In the rumblings of distant trains and the gusts of tunnel winds, I somehow felt better and began to walk more affirmatively.
It was still a couple of minutes until the next U-Bahn would come and pick me up - until then, I walked in my black and gray overcoat, against which the dotted coat fared.
