The wind blew cold and fierce, sending chills into the bones of those who dared to brave the frigid winter that engulfed the small city. Around this time, most had taken to staying in doors, curled up with their lovers by the fireplace, reading books of romance and adventure.
But our hero was not 'most'. He ran, feet slamming against the pavement of the sidewalk, sandy-blonde hair whipping behind him like a short-cape. His cheeks were red, and his lips frozen into a wild grin. His blue eyes, teary from the invisible frost which was dancing through the air. About every block or so, the hand-knit scarf his grandmother had made him, would fly off in a gust of snow, like the sand storms in the desert. He stopped when he reached a tiny, hole-in-the-wall café that he'd always met his friends at during the school season, and pushed the door open, entering.
"Hallo!" A friendly woman behind the counter called out. "kann ich Ihnen helfen?" The boy shook his head, "Nein. Ich warte auf jemand." The woman nodded, pushing a lock of blonde hair behind her ear, and went back to the cross word that was laid across the counter.
The boy seated himself, fixing the sugar, and creamer as he waited, piling it into a perfectly even pyramid, before lining them in even rows, as if they were an army waiting for the order to strike before whispering "Angriff." and playfully advancing a pack of sugar onto a creamer. By the time he had finished the creamer-massacre of die Kaffeebohne, his guest was opening the door. She pulled her jacket off, and took off her hood to reveal sandy-brown hair, that curled over her shoulders. He waved a hand, "hier!" She smiled and went over to the table, sitting down and looking over the mess before her. Sugar was ripped open and thrown across the table in desperate attempts to survive the gruesome battle, creamer was spilt and dripping over the side of the table. "Was ist passiert?" She giggled, grabbing a small napkin, and cleaning the surface of their table.
"ein Bürgerkrieg." Was all he said.