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“You?” Pauline raises her eyebrows. “Why? Did you finally break up with Kevin?”
“No!” The syllable slips out more violently than needed. “What makes you think so?”
“Well…” Pauline practices her most innocent Kaethe-Kruse-doll look on me, the one she always puts on when she’s trying to talk me into something. “Who started this?”
I sigh. “All right, then. Lately, with Kevin and me, it’s been…”I don’t know how to say this.
“No vital signs in his pants?” asks Pauline, and I nod.
“No, no pair of violet pants!” a squeaky young man’s voice, muffled by the heavy curtain, sounds from the locker room. “Who do you think I am?”
I giggle goofily as my friend gently clears up the misunderstanding by bringing the customer a pair of charcoal gray suit pants.
“Get cracking,” she hisses at me once she’s back. “Now what about Kevin and you?”
Where shall I start?“He’s so stressed out from his plans to start an insurance agency on his own.” And in his late thirties, such pressure makes itself felt in the more southern regions of a man’s body.Thanks to our age difference, Kevin gives me that support and security I have been after for so long, but… I honestly hadn’t expected that yet.“He still spends hours in the evening pondering over papers, hoisting one brew over the other.”
“He drinks?” Consternation contorts Pauline’s pretty face.
“When you say that, it sounds so… exaggerated. It’s not like he’s drunk all the time. I mean… a man can stand quite a bit before it becomes noticeable.”
“So-so,” is all Pauline says and purses her lips.
“That reminds me: I mustn’t forget to get a new beer case,” I blurt out the first thing that comes to mind.Just to keep her from starting in on Mr. Sandtmann’s tattoos again!With a sideways glance at my wrist, I check the time. “Whew, I guess I’ll have to hurry up.” When there’s nothing left, Kevin can get pretty nasty.
Pauline checks the time, too. “Why? It’s only a little before six. The Oess beverage store up there is open until seven…”
That’s true.But I can’t reveal to her I now also drive to the beverage stores in Diedesheim, Hassmersheim, and Fahrenbach. Just so Kevin’s increasing consumption isn’t noticed. As pleasant as the small-town atmosphere in Mosbach is…In this respect, I sometimes wish for the anonymity of a large city.“I also have to think about what I’m going to cook and buy the ingredients,” I fib because since my boyfriend isn’t here, I’ll probably just make myself an open-faced sandwich in light of the sumptuous lunch. “Farewell, my dear…” I kiss her on the cheek. “See you soon.”
“See you soon!” she echoes, then the door is already closing behind me with a melodic ringing.
5. To TurnThe Upper HandDown
Philipp
For once, I’m finished with my last client earlier than Bella today.
The steady purr of the machine emanates from her tattoo compartment as I cash him in and set about tidying up my compartment.
I’m crumpling up the disposable pad and tossing it in the leftover trash when the doorbell jingles again. Fuck, did I forget to flip theOpen—Closedsign? “We’re already closed!” I shout over my shoulder. “It’s been a long day.”
“Come on…” chimes a voice nearby which I instantly dislike. “Just five minutes…”
I shake away the insistent intervention of my subconscious, opening and closing my mouth to relax my tense cheek muscles. Then I turn to him. “All right, five minutes,” I say, straightening up. Because there’s not just one guy standing in the vestibule, but four or five at once. I check the time on the register’s display. “Four minutes 53 seconds from now.”
“Why’s he running his mouth?” A ferret-faced porker looks up at the group’s scrawny spokesman and cracks his knuckles. “Told you right off the bat that fucking inker ain’t fit for the job.”
Fucking inker?Back in the day, I used to kick someone’s ass for significantly lesser insults.I let my gaze glide over the group, intent on extreme coolness.
Black hoodies, under them dark or blood-red T-shirts with motto print.Refugees welcomeis written in bright orange on some of them. Underneath, a motif inspired by the look of the traffic signAttention Children: on the white inner surface of the red warning triangle, black silhouettes of a man and a woman drag a toddler behind them.
In search of clarification as to who I’m looking at, my gaze scans more shirts. Skulls jump to my eye, surrounded by chains and…
…are these supposed to be razors?I notice the contradiction to the uneven stubble of the guys’ beards, and I suppress a snort. The guys probably want to illustrate their attachment to the barber stores and their operators, which are sprouting up like tuber leaf mushrooms. My eyes wander further, scanning the rest of the strange bunch. I spot three shirts with the same prints. In varying degrees of washed out, but still easily discernible as a unified design:
Two flags on a white background: one red and one black. Surrounded by a circle with the inscriptionAntifascist Action.
Oh my fucking God, this way the wind is blowing. The local delegation of the Antifa.Up to now, I have been strict about rejecting such guys with their wishes for body adornment. Neutrally, but firmly. Because I don’t want to get involved in any extremist activities, no matter which side. But so far, they’ve come one by one. And not in manpower like a handball team, I note with a glance at two more figures who have joined the group in the meantime.
