The right jacket pocket is after, the thin beige fabric, the skirt is too weak for the grain bottle, into which he has. Now he strumpelt by the slippery snow Schivelbeiner the road. Schrumpelnasig, warzenwangig. On shockingly old. Lonely curls hanging slack rough under his woolen cap. Geglänzt have probably been a long time. He clasps his hands with rotgefrorenen cardboard cup, the coffee steams. The only heat for him on that icy penultimate evening of the year. The soles of his shoes dissolve. His facial skin is dry and zerkerbt as Landschollen after months of drought. "Down, down, down with the government!" , Muhammad said. "Down, down, down with the capital!" About him flickers the broken neon sign of Windelservices. "Workshops, accessories. Everything around the winding, "is blurry letters to be read. His left foot remains in a black Eisma Czechoslovakia hang lumps. He plunges. The coffee cup flies in the snow. A cozy puddle melts the hole. "Damn hoe. Snow shit! "He curses as he can hardly sit up. Again and again he slips. I durchwühle my wallet. Finally succeed him but to stand firm. I am committed to him, consider him a coin. "Here. For a new coffee. " Surprise twinkles in his eyes. One moment he looks only. Then follows the most marvelous, zahnarme smile of the year. "Thank you," he growls disconcerts. Again, "Thank you! What did I deserve this? " "Only in this way." "Enter at eight. The snow here is scheißglatt. " About me on the steel tracks the stop Schönhauser Allee, which rushes the subway, I wanted to catch. Who's cares? Another will come. Soon.
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