#DailyPrompt: Oil, Meet Water

LumièreWe stopped on the path, near the canal, our preferred running lane in Faust’s metropolis, under the chestnut trees. The air was already much cooler, prelude to the cold wind that soon would blow from the plains of Poland and beyond.

“You’re getting too good for me,” I said, nearly out of breath, with the smile of a slightly puzzled male, faced with exquisite female beauty, and superior strength in one.

You smiled and blew a kiss: “Come on, I have to justify your admiration, and, besides, were we not a bischen different it would not work would it?” With the Köpenick accent, how could I ever resist you?

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