They were sitting at a cafe, waiting for their orders of coffee and apple pie. Actually, she was only having coffee because she was on a diet.
“I think it’s going to rain,” he said.
“I wish I could be out of town now,” she said, “In the forest somewhere. Waiting for the rain.”
He liked the vision, it reminded him of something out of Tolkien. Forests were never real places to him.
“One day,” she said, “I want to have a house in the middle of a forest. All green, lots of space for friends to come over and have barbecues together. Dogs. Long walks. Would you like that?”
He wanted to do business. He wanted to take the tram to the center and go from club to club all night. He wanted to get a haircut without planning a trip, just pop out and get back. He wanted to have coffee at a cafe. Thoughts of suicide came to his mind.
“I don’t really want a future,” he said morbidly.
“You don’t want any future? Or just a future with me?”
He hesitated. “Any future,” he said and she proceeded to consoling him until the waiter came and made them sit still as he put the plates and cups on the table.