I see them.
Wandering the streets back and forth, and the first time you
see them is most probably the last. A boy and a girl -
always a boy and a girl. They crawl out of their lairs,
these exhausted, sleepless silhouettes, pairing up in the
corners of the streets, floating above the pavement with
steam rising from their aching bodies.

HE - greasy hair, cut with oldfashioned scissors set in an
oldfashioned hand. Sickening sweetness pours out of his eyes
and echoes in the sound of his voice. Every detail of his
face whispers the secrets of his own forbidden world, a
world where everything is allowed, inviting you to explore
its every dark corner. In his wallet there is little money,
he almost never eats, but in his back pocket there's always
small change, for cigarettes. He wears brown, rough pants
and as he looks at his reflection he lazily thinks: "eh, not
too bad". That is, if he ever looks at his
reflection anymore.
SHE - a little puddle of nerves and sadness, with two little
holes floating in her head with little dot-like pupils in
them, shimmering like cats' eyes. She is ridiculously narrow
waisted, but her thighs are chubby. Her thin velvet skirt
comes to hide the devilish curves, but only makes them more
obvious, more irresistable. She walks rapidly. The heels of
her boots make a hollow sound on the wet pavement, and she
keeps trying to pull her skirt downwards, downwards. She is
trying to keep the last bit of decency she has left. Her
attempts to pull down her skirt resemble a hopeless attempt
to spoon out the water from a sinking boat.

They walk with their arms crossed, he in a heavy, slow pace,
she in an histeric quick step, looking over her shoulder.
No, you sweet pussycat, no one is following you. No one will
ever know.
Her thigh rubs against his coarse pants. For an instant it
seems to them as if nothing separets their bodies, and soon
indeed nothing will. His fingertips are throbbing with
sensation; he is eagar to set his hands on her pale, smooth,
velvety skin and feel the flesh beneath it. An eel swims
through his legs.  

Come along we are late. Smile a little. No you have to ease
me into it. I think you're extremly beautiful. Don't worry
no one will know. Oh god your thighs are cold. Climb on me.
You are so soft. Your hair smells so good. Tomorrow is
another day my sweet pussycat

They wander the streets. They gather in the dark corners and
most of the times they don't come back at all. As soon as
they pass by I no longer know what will become of those
small transparent ghosts, those underground dwellers of the
world.
I hate them.