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Expedition Contributions
Joined: 20 Jul 2005 Posts: 47
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Posted: Mon May 08, 2006 11:15 pm Post subject: Seattle 17 |
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Elisabeth
Joined: 12 May 2006 Posts: 5
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Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 10:53 am Post subject: |
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As he walked down the old Main Street, he stopped in front of every shop, stared through the windows and to every passer-by, he would have seemed like someone who was carefully examining the items on offer, maybe looking for a suitable present for his girlfriend. But actually, although he was looking at all the dresses, the jewellery and the hand-crafted souvenirs, he didn’t see anything. Later in the evening, he would remember nothing, nothing except the flag.
Had he wanted to, he could have seen the flag from the top of the street where he had got off the bus, its bright colours were easily discernible even over the distance of half a mile. But he didn’t dare to look for it. That was just the reason why he didn’t walk past the small shops as he usually did when he went to see Hannah. With large steps, he would almost run down the street, his eyes fixed on the yellow house, relieved when he saw the sign saying open lit in the window and gladly escaping the rush of the street into Hannah’s little realm. To the other shops, he would pay no attention, they were too clean, too neat and too expensive. Not made for every-day shopping, but for the tourists which frequented the town in summer and winter alike. He had never experienced this town as a tourist. When he first arrived, he had stayed with his cousin and his family and although they were immigrants themselves, they had made him feel at home immediately. Later, he had met Hannah, the first and only American he ever made friends with, and from that time on, he saw the town through her eyes. So since he never felt like a tourist, there hadn’t been a reason for him to enter any of the shops and certainly, he wouldn’t have entered the one he was aiming his steps at now, if it wasn’t for Hannah. But now, the carefully decorated shop windows were just what he needed to keep his eyes busy. He was determined not to look at Hannah’s shop until he was right in front of it, and then, there would be no more uncertainty. Of course, there was still the possibility that she had decided differently, and then… but he did not dare to hope anymore.
The arrangement with the flag had been his idea, he liked dramatic gestures, and apart from that, he knew that it was impossible for him to see her again if she decided against him. When the idea of the fictitious marriage had first crossed his mind, he didn’t think it would be the thread to their friendship it proved to be now. They had become close friends, she used to say she would put his happiness over her own. That was what made him so sure that she would agree to marrying him, otherwise he would never have dared to ask her. But her reaction to his proposal had been far from anything he had expected: silence. And then, later, much later, serious talks about morals and conscience and ideals. He used to think he knew her better than himself, but again, he was proven wrong. She was full of romantic ideals about marriage, about white dresses and church bells and wedding cakes, enough to make him sick at the thought of it. There was no convincing her, and after a long exhausting week of nightly talks, he gave up on it. There wasn’t much time left, and if he didn’t get married soon, he would be expelled from the country. Still, he wanted to give her just a little more time and they agreed on one more week. The flag would be their signal. Many times, he had laughed about her habit to put out the flag first thing in the morning and to take it down when she closed the shop. So if she changed her mind and agreed to marry him, she would show him by not putting the flag out that morning. He then would know that she was prepared to make a sacrifice for him.
During this last week, where he didn’t hear from her at all, he had made a decision as well. His cousin, who wanted him to stay, had found another girl, who was, in exchange for some money, willing to help him out. But somehow, this possibility had become unthinkable. What he had learned about Hannah and their – as he had thought – everlasting friendship, had eventually robbed him of the will to stay in the country. It was either through her help or not at all.
Today was the day and his bags were packed, his room cleaned up and he had said goodbye to his cousin and his few other friends. He had arrived in front of the shop directly opposite Hannah’s, ready to face her decision. But before he had turned around, he knew the answer to his question. In the shop window, he saw the blurred reflection of the stars and stripes, blue, red and white. Next to it, the sign saying open shone bright red. |
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chrisqui
Joined: 20 Mar 2006 Posts: 5 Location: Mainz, Germany
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Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 2:38 pm Post subject: Home / Seattle 8 and 17 |
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Home
The wind tickles the red scarf embedded in the wrinkled flesh of her throat. It is tied securely in a seaman’s knot, initially meant to keep ships harbour-bound in a rough sea. Her body is pressed tightly to the window pane of a some local shop. The OPEN flashes in irradiate colours and dies away, returning and retreating incessantly. This cold February morning leaves people preferring the murmuring comfort of heated cars. No one but her has dared to step out into the violent breeze of a clear morning. The little girl gazing at her from the blue pickup truck right in front of her pulls a face – grinning teeth eagerly seeking attention. The woman turns away, ignoring the timid fists on glass. She embraces herself against the cold. Opening her arms up and closing them again to strengthen her body’s circulation. A low murmuring leaves her throat and a half-remembered melody escapes, allowing her mind to lose itself in memory while her body continues to wait for some yet unknown advent.
That one day when she opened up the French windows leading to the narrow garden path with the morning right there in front of her eyes left her speechless. She had never hoped for this sudden rebirth of happiness in life, hope had ceased with the years. But suddenly there he was – a new day had begun. The air vibrated in the heat of his arrival and she stretched herself in his warmth, his arms wrapped tightly around her waist.
The flag trembling in the waving wind, slaps harshly against the pole of its own standing, interrupting her reminiscence. She sighs and stares at her feet. The incessant movement of wriggling toes offers the sensation of movement and she begins to look around as if travelling the straight road like all the passer-bys who lack to notice her pathetic figure. She wears a long and heavy woollen coat erasing the harsh coldness and the unceasing wind. Yet she can feel a sudden breeze enveloping her body – a chill. She involuntarily shutters and continues to press her body further into the building, desiring to become one with its walls, resistant to the bitter draught.
Her loss left a void. Starring at the landscape couldn’t fill that gap or change the past. But it calmed the involuntary throbbing of his heart. And while he reflected the silent scene in front of him, he could think of her without thinking about a we that no longer was. She gave up without the utterance of a word, no note, no farewell, no anything. He didn’t even know where she had gone, why she had gone, when she had gone. The silence of the world around him reminded him of their last days together. Words suppressed – a golden clock ticking at the wall measured time, an old habit impossible to lay aside. There had been a happy day, a fearless day meant to last forever. But now he was entrapped in a world of sombre colours. He became aware of this greyness watching the violent colours of fiery flowers illuminated by the sun’s early rays. His sudden awareness of the external vitality found its reflection on his face. The petals' redness and his own greyness clashed with the natural tone of his skin. On the one hand a wish to pause in a never ceasing pain, on the other to step outside and embrace a silently calling world.
Of course life with him had not been easy. She had hated his black suits from the start yet he wore them day out, day in, never thinking about discarding them. He was still mourning the loss of a long gone love but she told herself that he only needed time, time she was willing to give. Yet he never opened his heart to her – armies had marched in and did not cease the siege in all those years. He had been her everything, her new day, her new morning. In the desert of the heart let the healing fountain start, in the prison of his days teach the free man how to embrace and then she had laughed to cover the pain she felt while reciting this last, distorted rhyme to him. But there had been no form of a healing liquid in their life together. She, a sea-captain’s sea-feverish daughter, had given up the screaming gulls and the breaking waves of northern shores to live with him inland. His sombre attire contrasted a life she had held dear for so long. She had eagerly waited for another day in which he would step outside with her and embrace the world as well as her in a singular deed to love. Yet he remained in known waters, besieged by grey walls. He had stopped to live in dialogue with the world after the breaking of his heart. Now again he was left alone to ponder his own shortcomings. But he had achieved a victory this time. His crooked heart could no more be broken. The pieces had been gathered. But not knowing himself he had put them back together in an awry calm, only allowing a small range of feelings. One day he had followed her outside, and had enclosed her with his arms, a beautiful morning, and thought about the other woman, the one he had loved.
She was still waiting when a gull passed her, screaming with all its might. A sudden laugh escaped her lips and an unexpected spark filled her eyes. She had returned home, and finally she could feel it too. She had waited for this sensation at the corner of McKinsey Road. The gull had erased painful memories of a near enough past but had awoken memories of a long gone time. She decided to see her father immediately and yearned the embrace he would offer her. Maybe a ship would leave the harbour soon and she could still sign on, already accomplished in the sea-faring art. In her head she slowly retraced every possible knot learned as a young girl on her grandfather’s lap. She still remembered them all, even after an absence of many years. But now she had returned, embracing the new day.
Last edited by chrisqui on Wed May 17, 2006 10:11 pm; edited 9 times in total |
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staffehl
Joined: 20 Mar 2006 Posts: 7
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Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 4:36 pm Post subject: |
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Seattle 17: The Outsider
The grey of the clouds spread an atmosphere of twilight. It had been raining in the night, also the day before and the night before that day. And now big puddles of dirty water still lay in the streets of Seattle. It was almost quarter past seven when Luke smoked his first cigarette. He stared at the dirty sky and looked for the sun. Since, as it was not only cloudy but also already late in the year, of course there was no sun to find. Cars full of stressed workaholics, and parents, bringing their children to school, rushed by. Although no rain fell from the sky, Luke had to watch out not to get too near to the cars which spread the dirty water of the puddles in all directions.
Luke just stood there, enjoying the taste of the cigarette. He took deep breaths of nicotine and watched the early hectic of the waking city. He himself had never wanted a proper job with regular income. Or even wanted to have an own family. He felt free, just for himself. Nothing and nobody could force him to behave in any particular way. It seemed to him that he was the only person in the city that could just stand in the street, watch the cars go by and smoke a cigarette without glancing at his watch. He never counted the minutes that were left until he again had to join the rushing flow of the world. If he woke up early in the morning then he got up and watched the atmosphere. And if he slept until noon, than he did so without having a bad consciousness.
He lived in a small flat next to a loud street. The flat was right above a coffee shop. But Luke could not afford to drink his morning coffee there. Since he did not have any responsibility in life, he also had no regular income. If he needed money to buy himself something to eat or drink, then he went around the block, searching for some simple work that only lasted for one to three days, or even a few hours. He had done the classics like washing dishes in a restaurant, or cleaning shop-windows. But he had also been helping out in a theatre; there he had helped building up the stage. Luke did not have to pay a monthly rate for the little flat he lived him. It had been his fathers flat before, and after his death, Luke had inherited the flat with all the things inside. Old-fashioned furniture, a dirty carpet, broken glasses and cups, also a bottle of wine. Luke liked the flat. Sometimes he just did not want to leave it. The food vanished from the fridge until there was nothing left. But that did not matter to him if he was in this special mood. He just sat there, enjoying the silence inside in contrast to the rushing of the outer world. Sometimes he made drawings. If no paper was left, he made his drawings on the walls. Throughout the years, the former old and yellowed wall-papers had turned into artificial works. He drew certain objects that somehow caught his attention. Luke did not draw anything that already was inside his flat. Throughout his walks in the hectic outer world, he discovered things that were of that special kind of beauty only he could see. What was garbage to others, to him was an object of individual aspect. Some of these even weren’t recognized as garbage by people from the outer world. But Luke just did not copy anything he saw. He had once found a rusted tin next to a garbage container. It had almost been hidden in the container’s shadows, but Luke saw it and thought about how it would look like a few hours later, when the shadow had would have vanished. He left it there and came back when the tin was in the focus of light. Its forms now made their own small shadows and the rust flickered red in the sunshine. Luke looked at the tin for a certain time and then copied it on the wall-paper in his flat. Although all these objects were inanimate, to Luke they became vivid by the play of light and shadow. These objects were more familiar to him than living animals and persons, for they existed in silence and dilatoriness by the silent and almost and to others unnoticeable changes of their sight.
If Luke would have invited guests, his flat would have appeared like a small museum of modern art. But that was not the case, for he enjoyed his loneliness. Maybe he just enjoyed it because he had never had experienced anything else before. Although the flat had been an inheritance, he had never met his father. Luke had grown up in an orphanage. Maybe the man that had given him his flat and his last name hadn’t even been his real father. Who knows. He did not want to think about his mother’s love affairs – and who would? Also, he hadn’t ever met his mother, for she had died in the very moment of his birth.
But Luke did not feel lonely. During his youth in the orphanage he had felt so. Millions of children around him. Millions of voices, millions of faces, not one ear understanding his words, not one eye understanding his drawings.
Luke was used to sceptical glances. In his youth they had belonged to the other children and his teachers – now it were those of his neighbours and sometimes the people that rushed by. He hardly talked to anybody; maybe he had already forgotten how to form the words with his tongue. Luke lived in a microcosm for himself.
Anyway, today he was not in the mood to stick to his flat and draw. Today, he felt a strong will to work. He hadn’t eaten a proper meal since a few days by now. Not hunger but the wish to feel his muscles work and breathe fresh air had made him step over the threshold.
He liked the grey and dark atmosphere. He liked the smell of the air after rain had fallen, although mixed with the hectic traces of the car-exhausts. He liked the bad weather because almost nobody in spite of himself enjoyed spending time outside. Nobody disturbed him by watching the vivid objects and discover new aspects and sights of the urban environment.
He finished his cigarette and continued his slow way through the fast world. No plans, no fears, no responsibility – only freedom. |
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Buggix
Joined: 12 May 2006 Posts: 3
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Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 8:42 pm Post subject: Revelations |
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Seattle 09, 17
The angel sounded his trumpet, and I saw a star that had fallen from the sky to the earth. The star had been given the key to the shaft of the Abyss. When he opened the Abyss, smoke rose from it like the smoke from a gigantic furnace. The sun and sky were darkened by the smoke from the Abyss. And out of the smoke locusts came down upon the earth and were given power like that of scorpions of the earth. They were told not to harm the grass of the earth or any plant or tree, but only those people who did not have the seal of God on their foreheads. They were not given power to kill them, but only to torture them. And the agony they suffered was like that of the sting of a scorpion when it strikes a man. During those days men will seek death, but will not find it; they will long to die, but death will elude them.
“Don’t hesitate to ask for assistance if you have a problem.” The gentle voice came out of a speaker right next to the door when I had entered the shop. John kept waiting outside, having a smoke, while I was about to pick some food inside. The two of us had been on the run for quite a while, eleven or twelve days now. We where not sure about what we were looking for, why we were having this trip, but a voice deep down in both of our souls told us that we were on the right track. Two weeks ago John had revealed to me that the rate at which his cancer was growing meant that he had no more than a couple of month to live. That’s what the doctors gave him. But they couldn’t give him an exact time frame. Shaken by this diagnosis, we, having no one to take care of but ourselves, had decided to get into John’s pick-up and to search for the one responsible for this.
And there was war in heaven. Michael and his angels fought against the dragon, and the dragon and his angels fought back. But he was not strong enough, and they lost their place in heaven. The great dragon was hurled down—that ancient serpent called the devil, or Satan, who leads the whole world astray. He was hurled to the earth, and his angels with him.
“Here John, I got you a paper!” I handed him a copy of the latest issue of US Today. “Just to show you that there’s more suffering on this goddamn planet than just your little weird cell-chaos.” With a grinning face he replied, “Yup, I wouldn’t wanna change position with our boys in Iraq. Man, that’s apocalypse really. Self-made apocalypse. The horror, I tell you!” After the first shock of the diagnosis John’s psyche had decided that it would be best for him to develop a laconic, stoic attitude towards his disease and his suffering in general. That made things a lot easier. “Come on, let’s get back on the road. You see the clouds over there? Means bad weather. Don’t wanna be stuck in this shitty place while the angels are pissing down on us. Hell, you best believe I don’t wanna stay in this provincial purgatory any longer. We have to continue our mission.”
Then I heard a loud voice from the temple saying to the seven angels, "Go, pour out the seven bowls of God's wrath on the earth."
Hours had gone by. It was raining again, John was watching the street from behind the steering wheel, when he suddenly hit my arm to tell me something. “You see things in life and you’ll be surprised what you see. Life, your whole life is changes. You go through changes in your life: one second you got it made, next second you’re down in the dumps. And it goes back and forth throughout your whole life: one second you got the most beautiful girl in the world, next second you don’t even have a girlfriend no more. And it goes back and forth and back and forth, you know, and this is life, man, it’s changes! This is what you gotta go through your whole lifetime.” John paused, then went on, “Man, you know, there’s great evil in the world! Where is it coming from? How does it enter the world? Who’s doing this? Who’s killing us?” With a slightly frantic grimace he pointed towards a group of trees we were about to pass by. “And who’s bringing life and growth into the world? You know, why are there good things happening and then bad things and good things and bad things again? Fuck, what would I give for a manual! You know, it’s all changes, but then there’s and end to it all. The end of changes. The end of us.” He was tapping with his fingers on top of the steering wheel. “I mean, why all those changes if we all have to die in the end after all? Geez, a kingdom for an answer! And a second one for another one of those sandwiches you got in the shop.” Glancing at the bag stored between my shoes, I realised that I also could use another one.
Then I heard a loud voice in heaven say:
"Now have come the salvation and the power and the kingdom of our God,
and the authority of his Christ.
For the accuser of our brothers,
who accuses them before our God day and night,
has been hurled down.
They overcame him
by the blood of the Lamb
and by the word of their testimony;
they did not love their lives so much
as to shrink from death.
Therefore rejoice, you heavens
and you who dwell in them!
But woe to the earth and the sea,
because the devil has gone down to you!
He is filled with fury,
because he knows that his time is short."
It was getting darker every minute. Fortunately, the rain had stopped. We decided that we had driven enough and stopped at a motel next to the highway. John needed a smoke and I needed a bed. I just fell down into my bed only minutes after arriving at the motel. John was standing outside in front of our room’s window. “Hey, eternity is either something like a Never-Neverland or it's like, you know, like a parallel world. You know, like they have it in Star Trek. Something of you is right here, and something’s on the other side. Same time, different place. Oh, I would just love to know. I can’t stand this shitty place anymore. I don’t grasp it. Why me? I think the other side is much more pleasant, without a body full of apocalypse and horror.” I had been aware of the fact that John had developed suicidal tendencies over the last couple of days. His surface appeared calm, but deep down below there were horrible emotional tensions. Without saying we had agreed on not talking about his deepest feelings. We just understood each other, without talking too much. I had realized that this was what John needed right now: a partner to back him up, someone to guide him through all the changes he was experiencing and the final curtain he was approaching. I had noticed that John had become a little obsessed with the question of what he had to expect behind the final curtain. I was sure that he hoped to get answers on all of his questions. And peace. He deserved it. He had to fight the odds all of his life, time and again. This was the only continuity. I was determined to guide him to the place that he was seeking.
Then I saw a new heaven and a new earth, for the first heaven and the first earth had passed away, and there was no longer any sea. I saw the Holy City, the new Jerusalem, coming down out of heaven from God, prepared as a bride beautifully dressed for her husband.
The next day, after a good continental breakfast, we had hit the road again. Hours had gone by, as every day. We had traversed the country, without a place as our final destination. Our destination was a place inside John. And now, as John had stopped our car only meters before the safe ground of the highway ended and the abyss would open up, we were finally there. “This is the place. The place of revelation. The place of redemption. Where I’m going now I’m not coming back from.” John was calm. He seemed to rest within himself. He sat down. He glanced over the brink, into the open of the abyss, towards himself. His bride would be waiting for him. The most beautiful girl in the world. He got it made. He had the seal upon his forehead.
Matthias Vergers, Mainz, 13.05.2006
Last edited by Buggix on Sun May 14, 2006 9:54 pm; edited 2 times in total |
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Clarion
Joined: 12 May 2006 Posts: 10 Location: Mainz
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Posted: Sat May 13, 2006 9:33 pm Post subject: We're Open |
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We’re Open
Oh say, can you see
by the dawn’s early light
how many of us there are
in this caravan next to the highway?
Jorge’s already left
and I’m shaving quietly
not to wake the others,
ducking low under the lines of washing in here
our work clothes and nothing else.
My fingers still smell of tomatoes
from yesterday and the day before and so many days before
too many to count.
I used to like this smell of summer
now it reminds me of wages
too low to buy a new pair of shoes
and still send some money home.
There’s the bus now and I’m off to the fields
for another twelve hours in the burning sun.
For the land of the free is a partial mother
and the home of the brave will never be mine. |
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Nasrin
Joined: 12 May 2006 Posts: 7
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Posted: Sun May 14, 2006 1:54 am Post subject: No big deal |
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Buck is waiting outside the drinking hole. The butts surrounding his feet indicate how many cigarettes he has already smoked within the last hour. He wasn’t supposed to wait there for a whole hour! “Damn, when are these bastards eventually showin’ up”, he curses in a low voice, as he angrily flips away the cigarette. Contemplatively he breathes out the last fume, always having an eye on the steel blue pick-up truck next to him. His existence is bound to this car. He checks the mobile phone for missed calls. Nothing.
“Impossible that anything went wrong”, he thought. “Kirk is a professional. Everything he organizes is fine. Kirk is someone you can trust. Yeah, it’ll be allright. They’re just late. Traffic jam, or somethin’.”
One day Buck wants to be one of the big ones. Like Kirk. He has made it. He was already impressed by him when they met downtown two years ago. This tall, well-dressed, clean-shaven guy, always wearing sun-glasses, had been something like his guardian angel.
“Hey, you’re Buck?” he asked. “Heard you need a job.”
Buck was on the ropes, a total wreck. He would have done anything for money. And then there he came, big Kirk offering little Buck to work for him. Of course he knew about the risky business, but who cares about risks when you are an addict.
Today he’s not an addict any more, thanks to Kirk. He says that’s bad for the business. Just a little sniff here and there, that’s all. You have to try the stuff before you buy it. And as good old Eric Clapton already said:
If you wanna hang out you've got to take her out:
Cocaine.
If you wanna get down, down on the ground:
Cocaine.
Simple, pregnant, exactly what he liked. This song often came to his mind when there was a big deal going on, or when he had to wait for deliveries, like now.
“Shit”, how long is he already waiting? One hour and ten minutes. Still no call, no sign.
He carefully takes a look around for anything conspicuous while lighting another cigarette.
“Just two more years. I’ll do it for two more years only. Then Lilly and me will have enough money to buy a lil’ house.”
Lilly keeps telling him that it’s all too dangerous, thou she loves the new little luxuries since Buck is getting more and more orders. But in the last two months he has seen three of his mates going to the slammer. That’s probably the reason for him getting so many “big deals” at the moment. Today is in fact one of the biggest he has ever done. Kirk said something about ten kilos. If this works out, his new car is secured. Maybe a hot BMW, like Kirk.
“It’ll go like clockwork, as usual.”
Then the phone rings. “Hey Buck, this Robert, see ya in ten minutes. All fine.“Big C” is coming.”
Fantastic! Buck finishes his cigarette and wants to get the bag out of the car. Then suddenly he notices a big, black BMW with toned window glasses approaching. It looks a bit like Kirk’s car, but he knows for sure that Kirk is in Mexico right now. It is a strange thing to see a car like this in an area like that. The black car drives past him, then slows down and stops in the middle of the street. For another minute, which seems to Buck like ages, nothing happens. He can’t help standing rooted to the spot and stare at the car, ready to jump into his own car and speed away.
A blonde woman, dressed in an expensive costume, gets out of the car. She looks around, throws a glance at Buck, and enters the fairly run-down building next to the bar. The black car parks a further down the street.
Now Buck starts to feel really uneasy. All at once he starts questioning everything he does. All these druggies, the addicts he sells the white stuff to, some kiddies who fancy the little pills. He, Buck, is the one who brings them what they want, what they need - and also all the misery that goes along with it. He knows what it’s like. No one gave a shit, when he was one of these street kids. “Drugs rule the world, and I am part of it. Gotta do the job!”
He grabs the bag and walks to the backyard of the building. He lights another cigarette. Then he notices a car slowly approaching. Big drops of sweat are running down his forehead. –
Thank God, it’s the boys. He tries to keep his cool and they finish the deal quickly, as they always do.
“You allright?” Robert asks casually?
“Sure.”
Bags are checked and exchanged in seconds, and they jump back into their cars.
“No big deal, Bucky. See ya.”, same phrase every time before they leave.
“See ya guys.”
That was it. Now Buck makes his way out of the backyard, back to his car. A slightly distressed look around himself, the suspicious black car is not there anymore.
“Yeah, no big deal.”, he whispers.
Then he gets into his pick up, hits the gas pedal, and turns the radio on. Buck breathes a sigh of relief.
If you got bad news, you wanna kick them blues:
Cocaine.
When your day is done and you wanna run:
Cocaine. |
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William Guest
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Kenneth Guest
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Anthony Guest
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