He’s knocked on my door so often now, he must know I’m in. At least he should know I’m not feeling conversational.
His breath tells me he’s not gonna give a shit.
“Remember that salmon I gave you?”
How could I forget. As usual, it was past its sell-by date.
“I need that gold carton that it’s packaged with. Yeah. You see, I use that to make cards for my Gewinnspiele. I have special scissors so you can cut with jagged edges. Makes it look real nice. Hold on, I’ll show you.”
He disappears into his smelly lair, and I really have no other option but to wait until he returns. When he does, he’s holding a monstrously ugly piece of gold-coloured cardboard, postcard-size. Its edges are indeed jagged, because of those scissors, as he points out. The thing has been adorned with a varied selection of colourful stickers, and his trademark punctured holes complete the package.
“You never know,” he says. “I could win a new house with this one. Either way I’m gonna leave this dump here behind any day now. I’ve had it with this place. I don’t trust these slit-eyes. Money-grabbing cunts. One of these days man, I’m gonna be out of here. But don’t worry, I’ll let you know before I do.”
Unfinished Bits 