In Berlin

Two rows of straight yet tainted with yellow teeth appeared among the poorly shaven face of that man. The stain on the teeth reflected the gray one in the skies high above. If that man and that sky and every other requisite of that scenery were not real, but instead skillfully painted, many would no doubt recognize the harmony of color in the hypothetical painting. Actively he tried to light the fire of conversation within the common folk behind the improvised metal border. If you stood very close, you could even smell the excitement that reeked from him. Fitting the cloudy-windy ambiance, he wore a brown jacked, barely thin enough to warm the fragile outline of his body, nonetheless gripping onto it with its dear life. Next to him stood a young woman, a great deal younger than the man with the yellowish teeth. Her wavy light hair together with the thin dark glasses framed her face in a particularly beautiful manner. In another life she surely would’ve found great success as a model, perhaps even an actress, so fine and articulated her movements were. In this life however she held an orange microphone with the generic white logotype of an unknown television channel, waiting for action to happen. Confidently yet softly she gazed into the crowd, her eyes shining with a hunter’s determination. Sometimes for seemingly unknown and unpredictable reasons, she’d smile modestly facing us. Where there are news there is a watchful camera, this being no exception to that golden rule. Carrying the eye of the operation was another man, whose eye capillaries must’ve exploded many sleepless nights ago. His chin unshaved and brought to a poorer condition than that of his colleague, his hair disheveled all around his round and broad torso, his clothes as worn out as the man himself. Gazing lazily into the crowd he seemed to look right past them, his eyes lacking focus, drifting around the darker stony corners where the cold light of the dimmed sun didn’t reach as well as on the open streets which were flowing in a constant motion with the masses. This peculiar trio remained in a sort of delicate balance not thought probable before. A philosopher might’ve asked whether they reflected the current state of the world, perhaps even humanity itself. However, we are far from such complicated and elevated ways of thinking. To us, it’s just three strangers united by a single cause – the news. No matter how exciting, how simple or how complicated they might seem, to us, they’re nothing short of regular, although physically separated from the common folk by small metal barricades. We, the common folk, observe them, as if they were a curious colorful frog in a glass aquarium filled with exotic plants. We hold our distance and realize meanwhile the presence of it. We to them are nothing more after all, except our number is much higher and our swaying sways the air which swings them with us in a silent chorus. After all, we remain to be the masses shown to other, greater masses through a glass screen facing a couch. Although the air is heavy, pressing down on us uniting its weight with that of watery clouds, the simplicity of the moment feels light alike a sunny day in the early morning, when the streets are empty, and the birds sing their nonsensical ballads of love. Suddenly, just as they appeared, they dissolved behind the backs of the masses, who accepting the new change still loitered on the border. The wind continued carrying whispers, too silent to differentiate between single incoherent words. It’s been a cold gray day.