I wish I were

Not that many men want to be a dog… My son does. We went for a stroll late in the evening and came across a football field lit up brightly by projectors. A game was at its peak. Looked like the real deal. One team had red jerseys, another blue. There was even a referee on the field. And he had a whistle. We let our son watch the game for a while, but it was already too late, so we had to get going. A man was sitting at a table in a nearby cafe, drinking his glass of wine casually, the way people do it in Berlin in the middle of the week. He wasn’t paying attention to the game but his dog was. At least the dog was sitting motionless beside him looking at the field as if the game had any meaning. “I wish I were this dog,” my son said, “so I could sit here all night and watch.”