Corners

   It was a particularly damp Cologne summer night. The sky was heavy velvet sheets. The moon, a far off glimmer of a memory. The streets were slick with the remnants of rain and despite the fact that it was nearing midnight, the streets were still somewhat crowded with tourists, locals, sightseers. Along one street, a corner cafe had it's door wide open, interior light flooding out onto blacktop, warm and inviting against a gritty urban backdrop. Inside, a young couple sat at a small, French-styled table, sipping steaming coffee from mugs, the steam wafting upwards in hazy swirls, ever unfurling...
   "We can see a movie," the man was saying.
   The woman was visibly not pleased. "There's only s**t out."
   "Alright, then. I at least offered."
   "You always offer."
   "And that means?"
   She sighs. "Nothing."
   "Tell me."
   "It's nothing, Alan. Godammit."
   Alan and Emilie were known around this area as the "young couple" or the "artsy couple". They were certainly Bohemian; they'd been together ever since they moved to Cologne and that was seven years ago and there wasn't even a whiff of further commitment. But Alan and Emilie didn't seem to need marriage or any sort of commitment. They were just together. Emilie was an up-and-coming painter who specialized in nudes blended into a bizarre hybrid of erotica, abstract and modernist art. Alan was a struggling writer, working for some wacko magazine that corresponded to some equally wacko subculture, the kind of magazine that you wouldn't find on the racks of the chain book places or chain pharmacies, the kind of magazine that you would find, buried and brushed, to the back of the racks in smaller, more specialized places.
   People always commented that they were a cute couple. But they looked like brother and sister more than anything and the way they acted furthered that impression. They both had blonde hair but Emilie's eyes were a special brown that made her eyes appear wider than they actually were and had a quality in light that made her appear as if she were always on the verge of tears. Alan's eyes were a cruel mix between green, grey and brown - Emilie would call it "hazel" - but it defied any sort of classification. And between the sheets, they were nothing like brother and sister.
   "We always do this sort of s**t. Let's do something new."
   It was true. It was one of their nightly "dates", usually a low-key going out session to some place or other. Alan was quite content with it. It kept him out of the house long enough to prevent him from going stir-crazy and kept him out of the proximity or company of people to maintain his comfort level. Emilie, however, was the social butterfly and he pitied her. She longed for friendships, relationships, connections. He couldn't understand why she would want that, but she did. Badly.
    "We can try something tomorrow night, then," he said, slurping his coffee loudly. His teeth were ivory daggers behind the thinly parted veil of his lips.
    "You done?" she whined.
    He scowled and quickly drained the rest of the coffee. It burnt it's way down into his stomach, sending a warm, tingling sensation through him. But it was nothing like -
     "Let's go, dear."
     They got up and stepped out onto the street, shoes clacking against damp cement. They kissed under a weak streetlight and the far off moon, now a hateful eye leering at the world, locked against black velvet. Alan hugged her closer and kissed her neck, the flesh there soft and warm, despite the damp in the air. His teeth punctured her skin and his mouthy filled with the tinny taste of blood. It slid down his esophagus and into his stomach, sending a warm and tingly feeling throughout him.