In a little blue suit she stands, still as a portrait, facing east into the morning sun.  She holds no purse or bag, hands empty at her sides, save for a piece of paper crinkled between two fingers.  In the calm of the morning no breeze moves the long locks of black hair which fall about her shoulders.   Before the noise of the day begins, before cars stir the dust, before children skip to school, the woman slips off her blue leather pumps.  Over the metal rail which holds the world back from the river she climbs, her body making barely a splash as it hits the water below.

On a nearby terrace a man watches the woman. He doesn’t flinch when she goes over the rail, and he doesn’t wonder at the paper the woman held in her hand.  He finishes his coffee, and remembers handing her the message, in his mind seeing the flourish of German words written there, and knowing she would understand them.

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