This is a continuation from yesterday’s post.
It was now morning, and I had been out all night. The strangers I met in the commission flats were still up and eager to continue drinking. I was well and truly exhausted but decided to head to the store with some before heading home.
On the way, I spoke with a timid, discreet man. Incredibly tall and large, a friendly giant if you will. I could tell he was quite perceptive and observant, but he kept to himself. From what I saw back at the flat, he was the punching bag of the group. The one to be collectively ridiculed and put down by the others. Whether jokingly or not, I could tell it was affecting him. He spoke to me about how his mother no longer speaks to him because of his affiliations. I could sense how hurt he felt.
The narrow paths surrounding the tall commission buildings were bustling and the morning sun was out. Children in uniform and their Muslim mothers were walking past heading to primary school. The children kept their heads down, as if it was a regular occurrence to pass intimidating groups of men on their commute.
‘’As-salamu alaikum’’ (Peace be upon you in Arabic) they said as they passed the mothers, open whiskey in hand.
As we arrived at the Aldi supermarket, the young, confident man I met at the bike shed earlier stated that he was going in to rob the store. He ordered the timid bloke to come with him, but he refused. Insults were thrown back, speaking of his cowardly personality and fear. The timid guy remained silent and motionless.
‘’Fine, I’ll go in by myself like I always do’’ stated the young man, storming into the shop. I could see from outside what he was taking. Bottles of straight alcohol and some wine. As he walked casually out, the security guard and cashier followed him. They yelled to stop but it did not faze him. We continued walking on like nothing happened.
I asked whether he’d be afraid of Police in the area. ‘’They take so long to show up to store burgs around here, it is too regular. I wouldn’t worry’’ he responded.
He handed over the alcohol and everyone went up to their flat. I was calling it a night, and we walked to the station so I could get a train home. But first, we made one more stop to another flat in the adjacent building.
The bloke wanted to buy some ice (methamphetamine) and knew a dealer close by. We travelled up together in the elevator and knocked on their door. An elderly Australian lady unlocked multiple locks and peered into the hallway; she was highly paranoid about who I was. The bloke insisted I was okay, and she begrudgingly let me in.
The living room was quite clean, an older white man sat on the sofa. These people were interesting. They composed themselves well, but paranoia seeped through from time to time in their words. She told me they’ve been ambushed many times by others trying to take money and drugs. Her fears were justified, but certainly amplified in her state.
I like to think there is some experience I can take away from this story. Perhaps at the time there may have been. Perhaps I need to refine my storytelling a little more. I guess I’m glad to have given it a crack. I may write some more stories in the future and spend more time perfecting them. You know, give them some meaning to then tie up in a nice bow.
Anyway, here’s a Berlin based Punk band.