So, against my logic and at your request, we fleetingly met again in a Greek restaurant in Niederrad. Marco had told me it was a rough part of town, but it looked like a good and random place for us.
Corner table, professionally facing two exits and with a small glass of white wine already poured when I arrived.
A few words, a new request and the slightest touch of our hands. I know I should have destroyed the small slip of paper after I had memorised the number, but it has no connections for anyone else.
A few minutes later, the smudged yellow light of a taxi outside and you were back into the early darkness.
My evening had become complicated.
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