Fließband

We met at the park, at the basketball field.

He was soaked in sweat, I was soaked in melancholy

of leaving, of the last day in a strange city

He said he worked in a factory. A factory where he made little plastic erasers

all day, on repeat

He was a “creative” - art inked all over his body

You know how cool those people always are, in an infuriating way

Erasers all day

Do cool people work on the production line?

The chat was circling around the heat

So I asked him what the tattoo on his leg meant

quite odd looking, a smiling devil

He said it’s his favorite song. A song that was said to be composed by the devil himself

or herself

Devil’s trill - definitely a red flag

Humming the melody, we shared a joint, didn’t exchange numbers

Maybe because we both had the melancholy

surely because we were both familiar with erasing things

High at the subway, in the strange city

with a dead phone

I wondered

What this conversation meant, if this was a story worth telling

or just the class difference making it interesting