Eighteen? Jo. Twenty? Logger.

"Bekackt, Walter! Bekackt! "

Baadls massaged his chin, ordered his cards on the hand.

"What should I do with the grits here? Since chases a scrap sheet next to me the whole evening. And since wag 'I still times, and then something. In each village a monster because I can soon yes' ne dogs Pension open. "

Fump! Jo floppt the Cap of the beer bottle, embarrassed grins and takes a sip strong.

"Oh come, Not kannste still zero."

"The best is still open, what? The sheet is leaking like rotten arbor in the allotment garden of my aunt. Bekackt! Bekackt! I mean, can the stochastic but did not. So much shit as I have tonight to get the hand, must but something good. "

Baadls grummelt encroaches into the Chips-Kumme and fills a handful in the throat. A few crumbs from the mouth stumble angles, and again entangled in Bartgestoppel.

"Bekackt!"

"Nu already come what Want to play? In the time it takes you to the announcement brachst are other people already with the wheel from Hamburg to Paris driven. "

"You me too. I hätt 'lift. Real. "

"Ab. Ab. "

"You have too much Werner watching."

"And you still did not say what you want to play."

Jo scharrt with their feet and turns on the frequency of the old suitcase radios.

"What do you know, that's how long will probably take until today I least one smart sheet wars?"

"Three hours?"

"Very funny. I mean, but even this may not be. This contradicts everything. The gauß'schen normal distribution. Nietzsche said: 'God is dead'. When I look at the angucke so, I say, not only because since a few hundred years, agrees: 'Gauss is dead'. "