Here is my European answer to the excellently American
“OVER A HAMBURGER” prose poem at Bukowski’s basement.
Friday night, Date night, Year 2009
A couple of minutes before their Friday evening date, she tosses on a clean blouse, brushes her hair back to catch it up in a quick twist and adds a bit of color to her lips.
Nervously she swivels her chair to stare at the two buttons “call” and “video call” wondering how rude it would be to forget to open the web camera on her end.
She considers her decision to bring up the same conversation, yet again, but she feels she must.
“Better to look into his eyes,” flashes through her mind as she automatically initiates the phone call by clicking here and there on the screen.
Her glance shows him carelessly relaxed before his computer, she shifts her gaze to his mouth, “I been doin a LOT of thinking and . . . n't feel righ. . . u'r a guy of my drea . problms not u . . but the distan. . . jst don' . c . . . how I ca. . . mke this . .yu'r so youn' . . .u take, i giv. . . am runnin on emp . . ."
She finishes to the sound of the whirring cooling fan and one long moment of spaceless, timeless Net communication, until she looks at the sparkle in his eyes on the monitor, then they both burst into laughter and the date officially begins.
(Thanks to Anthony Venutolo at Bukowski’s basement for the inspiration.)