As of my last update in January 2022, www.markvonrosenstiel.com doesn't appear to be a widely known or significant website. Without real-time browsing capabilities, I can't access or summarize its content. If it's a personal website or a niche site, it might contain information about Mark von Rosenstiel, potentially showcasing his professional work, portfolio, or personal interests. However, for the most accurate and up-to-date information, I recommend visiting the website directly.
We watch the first movies that are playing in the cinema on Sundays; whatever has been out the longest and will have the least amount of people watching. Usually there are a half a dozen people max, scattered through the theatre as we watch a movie either about 3 friends in some comedic wedding-related situation, or one man fighting back against the world to prove his values. We eat ham and cheese flavored popcorn and curl round boundaries into square chairs and everything fits perfectly.
Afterwards we go to get lunch at a small cafe that has this terrible LED screen that is too bright and lists their never changing menu of drinks and food. We talk about depression and how she sometimes hugs herself and kisses her arm so that she feels like someone is around. She shows me once: wraps her arms around her long lost self and hugs and breathes in like 1000 reunions with long lost friends all wrapped up into one. She then lays her arm on the table looking at it with the warmth that one shows towards a lover that sticks around after lust. She leans in and gives it a small kiss, and I can see in her head an image of her tucking her arm in and wishing it sweet dreams.
Usually we walk for a little after lunch and don't talk. Just walk side by side and look at buildings and every once in a while blow in our hands to get warmer, or scratch a non-existence itch; we walk and make small motions of people living their lives.
We say goodbye at a metro stop, where I bend down to hug her; her body is so much shorter than mine, so I end up extended out and over the pavement like a parking garage ticket machine. I eject a ticket of "nice to see you", and we part ways.
If you ever need someone named Bbobush, consider it a warning that they have that name.
