“Look, I am an Israeli, I have the fire within me, I don’t need another fire.” When he says this, we are to know each other for what? Five, ten minutes? I had seen him earlier at the gate, waiting for the flight to Frankfurt to be announced – and he had indeed appeared to be on fire, his feet straining the dirty floor – but it’s only now that I’m able to examine him in greater details. We sit next to each other on the plane, the pilot just told us switch off our mobile phones, and he talks about fire. About human fire. In a plane. With his right elbow touching my left one. When I want nothing more to grab the novel inside my bag or close my eyes, can’t decide which thing to do first. Is he drunk? On drugs? Or just left by his girlfriend (checking, wearing no ring)? Or he is, eventually, flirting with me? Or, even worse, did he realize that I’m German and this is only the beginning and it is going to end with a discussion about the Holocaust? Oh Jesus, everything I want is to at home, in my bed, with a warm blanket, over my head. But no chance.
“I don’t need another fire, i need someone to cool me down.” Ok, apparently it had been a bad decision to look at him since he continues speaking. Oh, a very, very bad decision. That guy speaks like, I dunno – I’m always bad in comparisons, ask my former German teacher, grading my poems at school -, but he has eyes like …. oh fuck, where is this flight going to end?
I’m so sorry for stealing your words, but they are so perfect for any story : -) Hope you like the style of this text and its ending is not too corny for your taste