This quote was on a postcard Jenny gave me when she came back from Berlin. I guess she liked the sentiment or knew I’d like the meaning I could take from it. She handed it to me the night she got back. She found me in the pub, in the beer garden, smoking in the drizzle. She doesn’t mind a little rain so she lit up and waited with me to finsh before getting a drink. I remember thinking how perfect she must have looked in Berlin with her fur hat that was catching shrinking raindrops on the tip of each whisker like a fizzy sweet.
I downed the rest of my pint so that we could order a bottle of wine and we found a secluded booth inside that was surrounded by glass cases on the walls above us that were stuffed with stuffed birds. We put old soul records on the jukebox and talked of the future. We decided that the birds were not beautiful any longer. But we would try to be.