Chapter Text
this is a terrace of a thousand stories,
each one so typical of humankind.
a bar where one in every three or four is
yours for the asking, if you’re so inclined.
one in a hundred could be quite a find.
. . .
Grab a story. Grab another one. And another. Another? Sure, another. Wait. Hold on. Wait. No. That’s too many. That’s too many stories. Put some back. Put some more back! We can only fit one thousand of these bad boys in here.
Okay, got a thousand? Exactly? Good.
As we’ve established, this is the terrace of a thousand stories. One day, we may spell out every tale that happened here: the tumultuous story of Walter and Alexander, the rise of the children seeking Freddie Trumper’s autograph, the secrets of the merchandiser girls giggling in the bathroom, the story of the two waiters on the terrace stealing glances at each other…
This terrace fits a thousand stories, but we can’t experience them all. We can, however, focus on Freddie Trumper and Svetlana Sergievskaya’s stories. Be warned: not all of them occur on the physical terrace. They do, however, occur because of the terrace.
It’s a special terrace.
. . .
as was, is now, and shall be evermore.