"The guy who created God is a god. The rest of us are just duds."

She breathed smoke through her nostrils like a dragon, sat at the bar, wore a Czech bomber jacket and spouted Nietzsche to me like it was in the bible. I didn't have a sixth or seventh sense, but I had enough sense to tell her that that was bullshit.

"And little kittens should play inside."

She had flaming red hair, a color I had never seen before.

"It must suck to be a man." She blew into my face. "No pun intended."

I waved the smoke away. "Why?"

"Sehnsucht."

"What?"

"Sehnsucht."

"What the hell – "

"It's like a train whistle. At night."

"How so?"

"It's like this, cat." She made a gun motion to her head. "An arrow."

"An arrow?"

"All you do is ask questions."

She stubbed out her cigarette and sat there bored, like it was her last one.

"All you do is ask questions, repeat at me like I'm about to die."

"And all you do is sit there, talking shit."

"It's not like I believe." She fingered her book. "I'm just reading it."

"Yeah. Right."

"And what are you doing?"

"I've been working on a cocktail." I leaned toward her. "Called 'grounds for divorce'."

She didn't even look at me. "What's in it?"

"Whiskey. Lost souls."

"I'm working on my martial arts."

"What for?"

"To fight off the ghosts."

"What ghosts?" I laughed. "I'll fight 'em off for you."

"The Ghost of German Syntax."

"Too bad, I can't read German."

"Try it." She threw the book at me. "It's just really fucked up English."

I ducked and it landed in a heavy thump on the floor.

"Stay tuned – I'm reading Faust next."

I picked it up, opened up a page and stared at random.

"How is it?"

"Like all German lit. About psychiatric patients."

"Gott. God." I hazarded. "Good God. When did God die?"

"He isn't dead." She answered calmly. "I met him, yesterday."

"Really?"

"On the corner of Mass and Main."

"What's he look like?"

She shrugged. "He's a bit down on his luck, worn-out, sure. Cardboard wings. But alive, definitely."

"Wearing?"

"Shirt and tie. No shoes."

"What color hair?"

She smiled devilishly. "He grabbed my arm – " she grabbed mine " – and whispered – they're coming."

"Who's coming?"

"You know who."

I stared into her eyes. They were entrancing; how the bird trapped the butterfly.

"No I don't."

She released me. "Then you're no fun at all."

I climbed up beside her again.

"It started in a pub back then too."

She shook her head. "Not like this."

"Sound of thunder, struck by lightning."

"Hail and lightning, frightening."

"Heaven ain't close in a place like this."

"But that's fine."

I stood up and walked behind her.

"My, what striking hair you have." I took a strand in my hand. "I'm surprised it doesn't burn."

"What beautiful blue eyes you have." She looked up at me, like a wolf. "I'm surprised it doesn't freeze."

"What about my hair?"

"What about my eyes?"

"They're like – the moon."

"Like the stars."

"All of them?" I laughed.

"Every one except one." She answered.

"Which one?"

"Come outside and I'll show you."

"But it's cold, so cold, outside."

"Not if we stay together."

I put my hand behind her chair, and she didn't move.

"Sartre said hell was other people," she commented, " – being forced to look at them forever."

"I could look at you forever." I declared.

"Hell is no eyelids." She blinked at me. "Physiological concerns aside."

"Hell is being alone."

She smiled a bit. "Like your eyes."

"Your beautiful eyes."

"Hell is where dead men go."

"And where do dead men go?"

"A question with an answer only dead men know." She tugged at her jacket collar. "Like my Dad."

"Oh – sorry."

"Don't be. He went out in a blaze of glory." Her look became far-away. "Leaving me with only an increased sense of my groundlessness."

"Life is always meaningless."

"Amen, bro."

Behind us, the music started up again. That guy on the piano, he wasn't half-bad.

"I've got a cracked, crazy eyes." She sang softly. "A maddening desire to fly. Electric lights that work only about half the time."

"Living life on a shutter lens."

"Not-so amazing powers of observation."

"But nowhere to fly to?"

"There's always a place to fly to." She pointed. "Up."

"You should come with me, then." I held out my hand.

"Where to?"

"Where do all lost things go?"

A moment's pause.

She took it.

"Do you know how to dance?"

"No – " I led her away, "– does it matter?"