Yesterday evening I went with the fast train downtown Frankfurt, reading in a book of poems. Suddenly the train was crowded with young people on the way to their Saturday night parties. Boys, loud, full of testosterone, aggressive. Opposite to me a girl, maybe 18, with a huge handbag. She completed her makeup, lips, mascara, brushed her hair and finally took an antiperspirant out of her handbag and sprayed it under her arms. Then she sat up and looked at result in a mirror first and then she noticed me.
„What are you reading?“, she asked me.
„Poetry“, I said and started to recite:
Se saruta, ah, se saruta, se saruta
tinerii pe strazi, în bistrouri, pe parapete,
se saruta intruna ca si cum ei insisi
n-ar fi decât niste terminatii
Se saruta, ah, se saruta printre masinile-n goana,
în statiile de metrou, în cinematografe,
în autobuze, se saruta cu disperare,
cu violenta, ca si cum
la capatul sarutului, la sfirsitul sarutului, dupa sarut
n-ar urma decât batrinetea proscrisa
…“ (Tinerii – Fragment – Nichita Stanescu)
When I looked up again, she was gone.