Welcome to the rabbit's hole. A blog on pulp.
Really, I love my new home. Actually my old home. At least I didn’t notice any change in the last 48 hours. Only my opinion did. At Hundred eighty degrees.
Circa two hours ago, I went for a sidekick to the supermarket on my way home. I don’t know, maybe I just wanted to do me some good on my birthday. On the culinary side of life. In front of the super four boys stood leaning on their pseudo-tuned bikes. One of them was looking like a Harley. Kool stuff. Me myself was quite kool, too. Sunglasses, black trousers, orange shirt, arrogant smile. But onto the view words I must have changed my whole appearance.
What heard was: ,Hey, there’s a lefty!’ Whup. When I came out of the supermarket all shields went up. All techniques I learned in years of school: building a invisible wall around oneself, becoming deaf in a second. And a face of stone. I packed my stuff into the bike’s basket and mounted the bike. ‘Piss of, asshole!’
Nice try. I drove away. I drove a little bit to fast. A shopping bag in the right hand, steering the bike with the left one. I threw the bag over my shoulder. And felt the plastic ripping between my fingers. Shit.
10 meters further the pack of orange juice touched the ground. Roaring laughter behind me. Fuck. When I’d turned around to get the burst tetrapack, the four already had gathered around me. ‘Hey you lost something.’ Wonderful, they were going to prove me their intelligence. ‘I know.’ I took my bike and drove around them. After 10 additional meters the leader caught up. The Harley-driver. Nice. ‘Ye said sumthin?’ – ‘No, asshole.’ – ‘Whom do ye call an asshole? Stop!’ I gave no reply. ‘Hey, are ye dumb? Stop! Stop! STOP!’ One stop later I found myself in the ditch. My shoppings scattered around me.
I pulled myself together. It took me three fast steps to stand in front of him. Gradually I did a slow burn. He took his fists up. I dropped mine. ‘Hey I don’t want to beat you up. Why don’t just leave me alone?’ – ‘ Ye got a speech defect, ye know?’ – ‘And you really think you’re the first one telling me this?’ He laughed. I turned and tried to sort barber, cookies and butter. ‘Hey, you lost sumthin” Well. Alternation seemed to be one of his weaker sides.
In the meantime the rest had gathered around me again. The smallest, a 14-year old boy, helped me erecting the remains of my bike. ‘Yer helping a leftie?’ He dropped it. I thanked him. ‘We dunt like folks like ya here-around.’ – ‘We dunt like no hippies!’ -‘How do you know that I don’t vote for the Christians?’ – ‘Christians! He gets worse! Ye gotta vote for the Nationalists or the Neos.’ I remained silent. ‘Piss of!’ I tried it once again: ‘Hey kiddies. Why don’t you just leave me alone? I didn’t bother you, did I?’ – ‘Oh, he’s so gay our little hippie.’ – ‘Stop that smothin’ mother-fuckin’ talk!’ – ‘Hey, what’s about them sun-glasses. I’d like t’have sum, too.’ – ‘Gimme them glasses!’ I sighed. ‘Hey, I leaving that fucked-up Woop Woop faster than you blink.’ ‘Move yer ass! I can still see ye!’ Roaring Laughter again. As if I’d like to waste my time in that rotten ruins of a village with some adolescent Nazis.
Take the bike. Start driving down the road. Steady steering. No quivering. The sunglasses fell out of my pockets. Laughter. I turned and took them up. The left one was broken.