Lost at Berlin

[Regelridderen]

Nothing to do with Malifaux, but maybe you’d like this little tale anyway.

 

LOST AT BERLIN

I lost myself once...

I’ve lost many of my selves since, but you know what they say; you only ever truly remember your first.

The story takes place in a time and a world much different than this, an age of innocence. Going back, the first thing that always springs to my mind is the words: “I gotta get that - Boom, boom, boom!” blaring across the plaza from some hip and happening kids chilling with a boombox at the base of the Christobal Colon fountain.

“I gotta get that – Boom, boom, boom!”.

I can relate to the refrain, although seated in a comfortable distance in my little casual snobby sanctuary at the outside tables of Café Berlin, my body still jerks to the beat, despite the soft bohemian tones coming from the inside.

“I gotta get that – Boom, boom, boom!”.

There’s a thirst in me that echoes the words. A thirst not satisfied by the perfectly roasted and ground coffee beans in my espresso, nor by the intricate sheen of the massive chandelier inside that’s dazzled many a guest. Even my flancocho is left untouched - and please, should you ever come by San Juan and the Café Berlin, that flancocho is worth the trip alone, but on this day other things are on my mind.

“I gotta get that – Boom, boom, boom!”.

Before me, almost filling the table, is a huge slab of titanium they used to pass for a laptop. It is why I am at this place, at the Berlin, paying an exorbitant amount for WiFi access, now trying to make room for this giant laptop, a mouse pad with a cheeky tucan saying “Welcome to Puerto Rico.”, espresso and flancocho. This place is where, I’ll get that :

“Boom, boom, boom!”.

This little sanctuary for the rich and the beautiful has become my hunting ground, an exquisite watering hole, where I’m the resident crocodile, lying perfectly still blending in with the mud. I’m observing, a beautiful girl clad in a light summer dress, hiding her eyes behind large sunglasses that could buy a small car. Like the patient predator, I’ve planned for this, and I’m just waiting for that moment, when I’ll get that: 

“Boom, boom, boom!”.

She takes a sip of sparkly water, looks in my direction but quickly averts her gaze from my presence. She seems to be waiting for someone, someone who isn’t showing. She’s getting impatient, tapping at the table, unaware that she’s started a countdown towards the inevitable…. And then the moment comes. She grabs in her purse and retrieves a small shard of black glass, she slides the expensive sunglasses back into her luxurious hair, her fingers caress the shard, and that’s when we connect. Not through locked eyes, but through an overpriced and unsecured WiFi connection I finally get that:

“Boom, boom, boom!”.

Suddenly I’m in a world of overpriced shoes. A friendly guy called Jeeves offers me directions to Café Berlin. My mind holds all the answers on what to do and where to go, when I’m single in San Juan. And I know, I’ve wasted the past 43 minutes waiting for a guy with perfect abs called Alejandro, whom I’ve been sexting for the past three days. My heart goes:

“Boom, boom, boom!”.

As I slide the overpriced sunglasses back across my eyes, rise and leave a generous tip by the half-empty glass of water. As I stroll across the Plaza and pass the kids, an american blonde starts counting “One, two, three…” from the boombox, I let her voice in, and soon I forget all about the dried out husk with its slab of titanium at the Berlin.

 

THE END