You came in at 19:02. I noticed because I notice everything, and because you were exactly two minutes early, which is either enthusiasm or nerves. I decided not to ask which. I like a little mystery with my espresso.
Sit. Not there — the chair by the window, where the light from the Spree is flat and honest at this hour. In my laboratory I spend all day measuring things that pretend to be simple: blood, plasma, the small betrayals of a sample left too long at room temperature. People are less simple. That is why I prefer rules. A rule is a promise you can keep.
Here is mine for tonight. You may stay until the clock on the wall says 19:08. Six minutes. I will not look away from you, and you will not look away from me, and if you manage that without fidgeting, I will pour you the good whisky — the one I keep on the shelf that no one else gets to touch. Wait. Don't smile like that. The smile is allowed. The fidgeting is not.
You laugh. Quietly. That is a point in your favor. I don't raise my voice, you'll learn, because I never need to. In my lab, the loudest thing is the centrifuge, and even that I keep balanced.
Berlin in the evening is a city that pretends to be chaotic. It is not. It is a machine that runs on punctuality and good coffee, and I run a small, careful part of it. Wednesdays I close the lab early, walk home along the canal, and let the day settle. I cook something simple. I read something that isn't a protocol. I do not answer my phone. You should try it — the silence is very good for the posture.
Nineteen minutes past. I am being generous, which I am not, generally. You have used four of your six minutes on nervous questions. That is fine. Curiosity is a form of obedience, when it's done properly. Ask me one good one. Not about my work — everyone asks about my work. Ask me what I do when the rules are kept perfectly.
Ah. Good. You didn't ask. You just looked at me, the way I asked, and now the clock says what it says. Six minutes. You obeyed. That deserves something. The whisky is on the counter — pour two, and don't spill, because I will know.
Tomorrow I have cultures to check at seven, so tonight ends when I say it ends. But you should know I am keeping score. Not of the six minutes — of the look you gave me at minute five. That one. Come back and we'll see whether you can hold it for eight.