Derer

Japan. HAARP. The truth is out there

2011-03-29T00:24:00.000-07:00

I’d like to spread the truth, which is apparently out there.

The earthquake in Japan has invoked a tempting tension among the people. The tension is stronger than the tension of those earth plates which caused the apocalypse.

The Riders of the Apocalypse saddled their carnivorous horses and gazed hard at all mankind.

Indeed, this didn’t evade those who posses a special gift to unveil truth, conspiracy and future, compared to us normal people.

They raced along the shadows of the earthquake victims to quickly inform everyone that the world as we know it is an illusion and seeing that we are scared of their truth, they will identify it for us.

Because they know it and they are not afraid.

They point their apocalyptic fingers towards the HAARP system, installed in Alaska.

Undoubtedly a fearful weapon in the hands of illuminates, rockefelas & rotschilds, vestured
in white velvet gloves, provoking quakes in Chile or Haiti, was finally able to hit Japan
wanting to get rid off WWII reparations.

We learn with our eyes wide open the details of global conspiracy, which leads us behind
the borders of our imagination - maybe even behind the borders of our Universe.

The HAARP signal will fade in by ionosphere (VTF), electromagnetic waves in the
range of 2MHz - 12MHz will propagate brutally a few miles through the ocean (VTDF) and
vibrate the world in the same manner as a piano tuner (VTTF).

The lunatics will explain brilliant negation of physical laws by omnipresent rotschild & bilderberg and also some funny videos on YT can be used. Those videos can be today created by 12 year old kids, but who cares.

Indeed, there is another theory as well. It says the quake has been invoked by a vibrator of Rita Skeeter as she fell asleep during the session and consequently forgot to switch the machine off.
Both conspiracy theories posses the same level of credibility.

The Riders of the Apocalypse place their trumpets to their mouth and blow. They will get back 3MW discharge of HAARP as an echoed answer.

Riders´ moon-faces bones start vibrating and in place of mankind assault, they sweep down on UFO.
UFO are a peace-loving nation - riders have no issue and easily cut lovely ETs to pieces and
sell them to global conspiring banks and this will resolve currently ongoing financial crises.

This theory is in line with current human theory of knowledge - but, it is also a dangerous theory and people are afraid of it, as exactly these facts are concealed by global world establishment & mainstream.

"Oraculum, we are here to discontinue you by decree of the Roman emperor Theodosius
and we have one last question."

"Umhh, and what’s that?"

"Is anything going to happen when we terminate you?"

"Fucking nothing."

UFO landed - End game

2009-11-22T02:05:00.000-08:00

I walked out from the office

I saw them landing. Their futuristic space cruisers gently touching the ground.

I was not in an "alien friendly" mood. UFO hoax pisses me off the same way as national movement warriors, conspiracy theories or managers, who float above all working people.
I was afraid, that they would approach me with their arms full of eternal spacial love.
I wandered away, into deserted plains of Madrid suburbs, climb over the hill and got into the bar.
There was a man with tattoo all over, a skeleton face behind the glass and two rattlesnakes.
I felt good.
I wrote some slimy poetry and fell out.
Aliens already started to spread havoc on the streets.
It arrived to me.
"I am an UFO and I bring you eternal love from the sky," said and gave me his dead, wet, cold, fish like small hand.
I passed him by, paying no attention to his prolonged bullshit speech.

Clash with police

2009-01-14T01:56:00.000-08:00

The sun was shining. I headed towards my car. Then I realized the door was open. What the fuck, I must have left it open yesterday… shit… I must have been pretty drunk… oh well, that means everything’ll be completely cleared out.
Some legs were sticking out of the car.
I saw a man going through the glove department.
I couldn’t believe it, fucking asshole, WHO DOES HE THINK HE IS!!!
I got pissed.
I ran to the car.

I had no idea what I was going to do. I grabbed the door and slammed it as hard as I could. The man inside was trapped. He began to scream in pain. I was holding onto the door and almost not breathing. NOW WHAT!? I watched the man inside the car. I assumed he’d try to push on the door from the inside but he wasn’t at all. Instead he was looking for something in his breast pocket. Oh fuck, he’s reaching for a gun!!
He was having a hard time doing it though because his body was caught between the door and the car frame.
I looked up at the window of a house above. Something was going on there. I saw the old lady who lives gesticulating.
I looked back in the car. The guy was pulling his hand out of his breast pocket.
I leaned on the door with all my strength to cause him as much pain as possible.
The guy was screaming but eventually managed to pull his hand out. He was holding an ID. The letters read: Police of the Czech Republic. Another guy appeared in the building window and said:
“Police, hands up!”
He said it just for the heck of it because he didn’t have a gun.
Jesus fucking Christ… NO… I can’t believe this, what the hell’s going on…
I released the door and the man tumbled out of the car.
He leaned against the car and said:
“Your ID, driving license, and registration from the car.”
He put his ID back in his pocket, so I had no idea if he was a cop or a thief.
Because I grew up in a police state, I began to cooperate immediately.
They went through my information for a while. Meanwhile I found out that the old lady I saw in the window knew them and was their friend… they managed to get me where I belong, on the defensive, they were threatening to take the car away because it wasn’t locked… and some other bullshit.
“And what were you looking for in the glove department?”
“Anything,” the cop answered.
I registered his look towards his buddy and my knees buckled under me. He wasn’t taking anything from there, he was PUTTING THERE something!
They realized that I realized.
“All right, here’re your papers, next time, keep your doors locked… lock your little car,” said the one I had pinched with the door not that long ago.
They disappeared around the corner. I looked up to the apartment window where one of them was before. I saw the silhouette of the old lady behind the curtain. I’m sure she was the one who called them, she wants to destroy me for some weird reason, they planted drugs in my car or something else… and in few seconds different cops with sirens will rush to the scene, and I’ll be fucking SCREWED.
I jumped inside of the car and opened the glove department. Nothing. Then under the seats. Nothing. In the doors. Nothing. Nothing whatsoever. I calmed down. I heard a siren, it was getting closer. I felt a jabbing in my heart. That’s it, this is the end. Eight years for drug dealing, no parole. My whole body trembling, I was feverishly trying to find out where they put it…
And WHO is it that wants to destroy me???
A police car emerged from behind the corner. I knew that if I farted at that point, I’d definitely shit in my pants.
The car passed by. Nothing happened, the cops weren’t even looking outside. I stood alone on the street once again.

DererBand

2008-12-10T02:54:00.000-08:00

DererBand played in the czech rock bar Na Slamniku on Monday, 10.12.2008.
DererBand still doesn't have a percussionist, but does have a dancer.
That's very good.

DererBand plays around one hour. Those songs are fairly funny, sound like mix of James Blunt, Madonna and Motorhead. But it's mix of Derer, Mandelik(guitar) and Mach.

The crowd were by the bar, and other people dancing.

We kept in mind the importance of the DATE so we performed our best. best. dot.

If we rip the text apart, we get over Challenge Yourself never be me up to the catchiest refrain: Esta nuestra calle, no venderan, Esta nuestra calle, no pasaran.

Our aggressive, no-compromise attitude made DererBand one of the instigators of the developing CZ pub rock scene, but our idiosyncratic approach rarely follows any single musical genre with the group exploring a variety of musical styles including electro, latin, punk rock, gothic rock, and new wave through to the pop

From Charlie, water blue eyes and big belly up to poetic Had to kill her.

From Mexico city, band will take us through the jungle by it's dead percussion up to Argentina, where everybody has got Camisa negra with Honey.

Honey is made of an old stupid rhyme honey-money, which is propably still an expression for a sense of life for someone. Yes.dot.

Funny man, underlined by it's apparent absurdity and a genre obscurity, would set out on the trip to rape Little girls into Czech republic.

Meditative Road can't save a total crash of the decadence.

Only if everybody would sing Challenger, sandwiches and bitches...

http://www.myspace.com/httpwwwmyspacecom141961631

Letters from Ireland

2008-11-13T01:00:00.000-08:00

My dear, I've been writing these notes during my journey to make the best of the flight from Prague to Dublin.
And than I´ve continued writing too...
I always write a diary, maybe once I become a novel writer!
My visit to the country of patriots is not accidental. Certainly you remember, my dear,when we talked about patriotism and love for a nation.
An when I said the Irish whiskey is the best.

I don't drink Irish whiskey, rather I do sympathize with these people. Nation who loudly and clearly voted against European euthanasy & anarchy.
Against demons of a new dictate of social para-intellectuals.
I love these folks who love that whiskey.
I feel like one of them.
But, that's enough...

I met the prime minister yesterday. I've asked him whether he plays tennis.
He answered NO, but complained about his nickname.
My dear, I've got no clue of what does that mean...BIFFO. (big,ignorant, f...er,from Offaly)
But I told him I feel to be a Biffo too.
Perhaps it means... irish dissident, and I feel like such a dissident too!
Than he said some call him also Gruffalo.(grumpy, rude, uncensored, f...er,from, around,Laois, Offaly)

I delighted him saying I fell to be a Gruffalo too.

Than I lost interest. I told him I lost interest to talk to him, because he said he lost interest to talk to me before.
I called my old buddy from Russia, Declan, remember...?

I know him a long time, he is an excellent fellow. We met first when he funded the biggest lumbering company in Russia.
Already by that time I enjoyed him telling smart about his love for Russians and their forests.
It's impressive he also makes a great business with American army. He made more than 200MUSD like that!
Consider this, my dear!

We could buy our own castle for such a cash!

He is a real dissident and I will always join such a dissidents.

I am drawing to a close...

Ahhh, I am tired of being alone in my battle.

But don't worry, my dear.

I WILL NEVER SURRENDER!

In a swimming pool shower room.

2008-10-20T00:57:00.000-07:00

In a gloomy brightness of tile walls of the biggest Prague swimming pool...

Bodies
Young, old, fat, slim, dark, nut brown or white.
Noise of showers echoes from the bodies and penetrates into bones.

Man sits in front of steambath and reads a newspaper. Other man staggers around and gabbles inapprehensible words.

A snake start crawling on the ground tiles. It's not a snake, but a water hose used by a maintenance man.

All of the sudden, water starts spraying from the snake body.

I move a bit away.

Water sprays the newspaper, but man keeps reading.

A maintenance man arrives. He cleans up his glasses and check the problem. Somehow, he is not able to fix it. Water sprays all around.

Propably some sealing...

I observe carefully, what's going to happen.

All of the sudden, the man stand up and screams: "FUCK!" In the very same moment he throws the hose wildely towards the tile floor.
Water sprays up to the ceiling.

Man with newspaper keep reading. Water is turning paper wet.

The hose starts sweeping around like a monster. Spit out water all around.

Allways the same, the inferno comes.

Maintenance man lean down to the monster. Immediatelly, he's drenched throug. He sees nothing as the monster managed to sweep over his glasses.

He grabs the monster, throws it wildely towards the tile floor and shouts: "FUCK"

Man with the newspaper rise his eyebrow. He's got his news dead drenched.

Other man goes by and gabbles. I hear a word "genitals..." He's got huge red wounds on his back.

Somebody stand right beside me and observe monster and maintenance man wrestling. Monster-snake winning...

"Fun house" he breathes out and leaves.

I move towards the showers. Someone beside me vocalize sounds like a wild boar.
He soap himself, than lies down and start tossing himself around and grunting.

I check what's up with the monster.

Totaly drenched maintenance man explains to the man with the newspaper he needs sealing.

Man looks at him with an amazement.

Water is all over.

Wild boar on the ground keeps tossing himslef over the tile floor and than shout out: "FUCK!" The shout echoes from the tile walls like a thunderstroke
with no chance to stab anywhere.
I move to drier room.

A man stands ahead of drier and pounds his head at the wall.He keeps gabbling work "genitals."

Warm wind.

Man comes and look at my eyes.

"Haven't you seen my bag, have you?"

I look at him.

Sadly, he sinks his eyes and leaves.

Some kind of mugging

2008-10-12T07:15:00.000-07:00

A figure jumped from the cliff. It was a man and he had a knife. He had a big advantage because we were in slow-mo but he was as fast as lightening.
Suddenly, John had the knife at his throat.

I glanced at the cliff, the woman, who was there just few seconds ago was gone, and instead there was a man. I felt time swirling all around me.
“I’m nuts, I’ll kill you!” shouted the man with the knife. Other than that, he wore just a pair of dirty boxers.
“I must be nuts,” I said unintentionally.
“I don’t care about nothing!”
I saw the knife on John’s throat, so I began handing over my things. I didn’t feel sorry for them at all. I was curious what would come next. John handed over his backpack.
Suddenly, another man showed up and told us not to make any stupid moves, otherwise he’d kill us. I had no desire to make any such moves, so everything was just dandy.
“Just to get some chow,” said the Robin Hood as he gave me back my credit cards and IDs.
“Hey, gimme back by backpack,” said John. Jesus fucking Christ, John, this is no joke, it’s a mugging, I was mumbling quietly to myself. To my surprise, Robin Hood grabbed the backpack and gave it back to John.
“So, gringos, this time you get off pretty cheap, but next time…!!” warned Robin Hood. He took the cash and disappeared. Where, I have no idea. He just suddenly wasn’t there. The same with the other man.
We looked at each other and time was once again running at normal speed.
“Did you see that? What was it?”
“Some kind of mugging, I guess.”
We were a few dollars lighter but otherwise nothing. Not even a scratch.
“Goddamnit, we should have fought,” I thought for a moment.
“Fuck no, it’s not worth it.”
“That’s true, but… uhh,” some fucking stupid pride was emerging in me, everybody’s a general after the battle.
And than...,we decided to go drinking in Salvador, one of those best places to have a fun in Brasil.

Homeless

2008-07-13T03:09:00.000-07:00

I spotted a homeless guy bothering some older tourists on the beach.
Why the fuck is he bothering them, I think I’ll tell him to leave them alone… idiot…
he’s as dirty as a pig.
“You’re as dirty as a pig,” I heard next to me.

The kiosk man was passing me my beer.
“Yes, I know, thanks!” I took the beer and checked myself. I tried to clean it but it wasn’t really working. Meanwhile, the homeless dude had begun bothering some other people, they were sitting next to me, talking. Shit, in a few moments he’ll get to me, I should get going…
“You want another one, son?” Again, I didn’t catch how he exactly called me.
“Yeah.”
The homeless man was looking in my direction, he was hardly standing, had a huge shit spot on the back of his pants, and it looked like he hadn’t taken a shower for at least a couple years.
He was skinny but his arms were full of scars and muscles. He came up to me…
“How ya doin’, all right?”
“Sure,” I cracked open the beer can and took a swig.
“Can I have some, I’m thirsty…” I glanced at the can and then his mouth, which reeked.
“Of course, have some…” I gave him the can.
“Hey, amigo, gimme another one,” you old, gray idiot, I thought to myself.
“Here it is, son…” I was looking at him, he was looking at me. I grabbed the new can and opened it. I was losing the last remains of my strength, so I drank it down in one gulp. Without any other words I promptly received another one. Everything was starting to look much better.
“So you fight, huh?” the homeless man asked. I contemplated the question for a moment and then truthfully answered yes. He began doing steps and thrusts in front of me. He told me that he used to teach Kung Fu. Years of drinking hadn’t robbed him of it, even at this stage he still had the MOVES.
He sat down next to me and said:
“When I was a boy, I spotted a girl from a neighboring village, beautiful as a picture.”
Shit, now he’ll start telling me the story of his life.
“I went to see her and told her she was beautiful. It was about a hundred miles from here, up in the mountains. Back then, I was living with my seven brothers in a three by ten feet brick hut, in the middle of the jungle. When I returned, everybody was laughing at me. I lay down in the corner, rolled myself up into a ball, and fell asleep. I was happy. The next day, when I saw her, she smiled at me.
I was happy, she was thirteen, I was fifteen. I went to see her again and asked her if she wanted me. She smiled and said yes. I went to see her dad in a village nearby and told him I wanted his daughter.
He told me I had to be nice to her. And from that time we lived together.
I’d work in the forest, teach Kung Fu, which I learned from books, in the evenings, and come home late. We were happy. When I’d come home late at night, she’d always smile at me, stroke my cheeks, and sing me beautiful songs.
She always had dinner ready, even when bad times came and there was nothing to eat and hunger was everywhere. I’d buy her beads in the market behind the village, and sometimes I even ventured to the city, to get dishes, fans for her dresses, and parrot feathers just for decoration. Then, one day, I came home and she told me not to be angry but that she had a headache and couldn’t be with me.
After that she had headaches more and more often, pretty much all the time when I got home she had one, but she’d take a pill and it’d go away. I was begging her to see a doctor, but she wouldn’t listen to me. She said the pills helped ease the pain.”
He looked at me and said: “You know, I lost what I loved the most in life.”
I was fixated on him.
“She died three years ago, I lost the thing I loved the most in life.”
He gave me a long stare once more then walked away.
I felt bad… what kind of prick am I, I had wanted to tell him to stop bothering some fucking stupid tourists…
I had one more beer to collect some strength and went home. That night I was really tired but couldn’t fall asleep. I finally fell asleep in the morning when the birds were already singing.
They kept singing the same song over and over again. So, I eventually got up, made myself a cup of coffee and watched the lake and mountains from our balcony. The rowers were already out on the lake, again.
They always are.
The sky was dark blue, as blue as it could be, the bright white statue of Jesus against the blue sky and on top of the dark wooded hill looking like the greatest kitsch picture one could imagine.

Czech nazi

2008-04-08T01:27:00.000-07:00

"Jake almost got beat up last night"
"Why?"
"Around thirty nazis assaulted them...they all had weapons."
"And guys?"
"They were all five, Bon got beat up...nazis chase them down to the city center, had beaten them in a tram, nobody said nothing, they said that to policemen, they hadn't done nothing...
I talk to my wife across the whole world about this shit. And than I thought, what is the Czech nazi all about.

"Czech nazi is a brave man, who is able to raid on few "something to think of" guys, when he fancy to mill. Important is number of nazis to be higher than number of victims.

"Czech nazi is a motherfucker, who runs off if he would have to stand off face to face to someone and explain him, by his own words, what does he mean by being nazi.
That is to say, that he doesn't own anything like "own words."

Czech nazi-motherfucker is a cop, who is happy, that other Czech nazi-motherfucker does his national and racial job they way he would like to do it, but can't.

Czech nazi is a slime, who says, that Czech gypsies were happy in the concentration camp Lety(during 2WW), as a matter of fact it was recreation camp.
Those who were unsatisfied down there suffered plague and that is why entire society led by Czech collaborationists and German invaders had to protect itself.

Czech nazi underline the matter of national interests. But, if tanks arrive either from East or West, he starts crying and jumps up on the first one he spots and join himself immediately to the invaders.
The worst what could happen is him jumping by an accident on a Czech tank.

Czech nazi is a Czech patriot - that's why he admires Adolf Hitler.

Czech nazi likes arms and violence. When someone use the same against him...so he begins to cry.

Czech nazi would love to stand up on the Gibraltar rock and shoot down the people who swim over the strait. It sounds OK to him, because we have to defend our nation.
The problem is that he has never been out behind the Czech boarder so he can't orientate himself and moreover he doesn't know, where the Gibraltar is. Neither does he know, what it is.

On the other side, Czech nazi knows everything. Knows, that the black man comes from a monkey whereas white man comes from a white man.He knows it, because it's that way.

Czech nazi will seriously tell you that the Czech national flag reflects a Jewish symbol and it's absolutely necessary to fix it up.
As a proof he submits Main Kampf and Daniken's bullshit about extraterrestrians.

Czech nazi roll himself into the Czech national flag and set off for a street. He's proud of being a Czech citizen and makes himself up by shouting loud "Who doesn't jump is not a CZECH."
Than he jumps.

Czech nazi is also a dirt eater, who will never help anyone. When he sees a group of people beating someone, than he won't help, neither he will call police, better he calls his girfriend and says: "Immagine, my love, I just saw group of people beating someone badly bleeding."
And she will say: "Hope, you didn't interfere with anything!!"

Czech fine artists

2007-10-26T12:25:00.000-07:00

I don’t know why, but the CZECH FINE ARTISTS came to mind.
It´s some three years ago now I was in a bar with a man from the consulate. He was complaining that some stupid painters were coming from Czech to do an exhibition in Lidice(little brazilian village named the same as the czech one burned down to the ground by the nazis), and sent him a message to find paints for them. He said he couldn’t find exactly what they wanted, so he was wasting a lot of time and therefore had to catch up with his regular work at night because the operation of the entire office relied on him.

When I went for a beer with him a week later, he was holding his head because he still hadn’t found the paints they wanted.
Yet after another week I dined with the Czech consul and was told that the CZECH FINE ARTISTS had already arrived. Instead of saying "hi" to the man who eventually found the paints for them, they said they wanted to go to the waterfalls, requested that he find them plane tickets and also buy them some canvas and brushes because they didn’t bring any. Others, who were pouring out of the plane, yelled at him to arrange a trip to the capital.
Meanwhile, the entire population of Lidice including its mayor was waiting for them. The village had been getting ready for the happening for months.
The CZECH FINE ARTISTS divided into two groups. One group went to the waterfalls, the other to the capital. The Czech consul went to Lidice to smooth out the whole situation.
Two more weeks passed by, during which I didn’t pay much attention to the affair, even though I had heard some petty complains from the consulate people that the CZECH FINE ARTISTS were not willing to walk but had to have constantly at their disposition a car with a driver, and a bunch of other stupid bullshit.
I didn’t like what I was hearing but it still didn’t touch me personally. Until last week, when I went to see the closing private viewing of the CZECH FINE ARTISTS.
I entered the room where the exhibit was taking place, and I saw them right away: cells on their belts, American style goatees, grizzled hair, copulators…
They have exhibits around the entire world, George’s successful in Germany, Fanny ‘likes girls and they like him,’ Jesus Christ, what a bunch of fucking assholes, I was still mumbling to myself even now just thinking about them.
The MAIN CZECH FINE ARTIST took the floor then.
“I would like to thank the ambassador, the consulate, the ministry of foreign affairs… the company Toys of our Boys, Bruno who sells hot dogs and salami, and others and others, for example the firm Fabric and Stitches… thanks to whom we were able to take this trip.”
The interpreter couldn’t believe her eyes, or ears.
“I would like to also say right in the beginning that our journey was one big success.” This time it was me who couldn’t believe his eyes when looking at the painted pieces of shit hanging on the walls.
“Now, I would like to solemnly announce that each of us, the CZECH FINE ARTISTS, have decided to donate for free two of his works to the village of LIDICE. THE VALUE OF EACH PAIR IS, JUST OUT OF CURIOSITY, HMMM, MHHH, fifty thousand reals.
I dropped my fucking jaw. The air left my lungs and nothing else was coming in. The audience was staring on the daubs on the wall, then the applause came.
My eyes were roaming from the painters to their pictures and back. IT CAN’T BE POSSIBLE, HOW THE FUCK DID THESE FUCKING ASSHOLES COME UP WITH THAT PRICE!!!!
One can buy a house with a garden for fifty thousand reals in this country…
“We were on TV already three times and twice in the newspaper,” I heard somebody talking big.
I left. I COULDN’T STAND IT ONE MORE MINUTE! I was trembling in fury! I ran out of the building, people were turning to see what was going on. I felt a sharp pain by my heart. Breath deep, breath deep, I told myself when running out.
It was midnight, I went to the beach, where the Czech newspapers say there is always some shooting going on. I sat down on the sand and watched the waves. I felt I might start crying.
Eight or ten fucking assholes went on a trip paid by the government and this is how they conduct themselves. I couldn’t believe such things were possible.

Prague taxidrivers

2007-08-24T21:06:00.000-07:00

"Man, I payed 650 crowns from Old Town Square to Nusle."My friend Ole arrived from Denmark and immediately went to the trap of czech cheats on their four wheels. And I got pissed, that this is it! This is, what the foreigners get at first in the Czech republic.
"I have been living in South America for 7 years and haven´t experienced such a robbery, shit!"

My friend Ole doesn´t give a damm about decency, if he is pissed.
It´s funny how he gets excited but my mind goes fury. I did the same route two hours ago for 200 crowns.
"Did he have a meter on?"
"Yea, but I could not see the numbers, the meter was running like crazy!"
Poor man, he really doesn´t like to be robbed.
I pull out a beer from the fridge and open the bottle of slivovice, traditional czech alco which one has to drink and belive, that will see the world again next day.
I am with him. In ANY city of South America taxidrivers don´t cheat that way - without counting disastrous airports thiefs. You get a street taxi in any center of Buenos Aires, Sao Paulo, Rio de Janeiro, Bogota, Santiago or Lima and even he might notice right away, that you are "gringo", than doesn´t try stupid tricks but puts the meter on. Usually with two tariffs, one for week and other for weekend or public holidays.Even if no meter, than usually normal price for route can be agreed.
Not worth of mentioning northern europe taxidrivers. Last taxirobber in Finland or Denmark was propably shot down to death some time during beggining of the 20th century.
Finishing drinks a leaving my place. We head to Zizkov TV tower.
"Let´s go by tram..."
"No, man, I don´t want to wait..."
I see taxi approaching. We get in . Taxidriver talks on the mobile phone. After 100 meters switches meter on and choose tariff 3.I glance the price table in front of me. It has got 8 different tariffs.
"Hey, Ole, immagine, we have 8 different tariffs, how about Denmark?"
"WHAT? We have only ONE or two!"
"You see, better we are," with laugh. Than I look back to the price table.
I note, that currently we are escorted by one additional car, according to the price table and tariff."Why did you swith on 3, there is supposed to be 1! It´s crystal clear downhere - Prague, tariff ONE!"Price difference bettween tariff one and three is 13 crowns per kilometer. My blood starts boiling.Shit! We talked about it half an hour ago!
"OK, so you want me to work for 28 crowns per kilometer?" says taxidriver.
"WHAT, what 28, the price table states : tariff one - Prague, 22 crowns. The only thing I want is to go for THAT tariff, nothing damm else! "
Taxidriver switches over tariff from 3 to 2 and shakes his head.
"BUT , hell, we going for the same tariff as we woul call your company Call center! But, I haven´t done anything like that!" DAMM!
"SO YOU WANT ME TO WORK FOR 22 CROWNS??!!"
"I WANT TO GO ACCORDNING TO THIS BLOODY PRICE TABLE, WHICH IS IN FRONT OF ME!"
"But, the price is 28 crowns. Look at the car door."
I look breathless in front of me at the price table, which is contradicting that door info.
"So, why do you have here this price table, which is NOT VALID?!"
"Well..., that´s LAW!"
"OK, so please, change the tariff according to that law."
"SO, NOW YOU WANT ME TO WORK FOR 22??!!"
"NOO, I DIDN´T SAY ANYTHING LIKE THAT!"
I thing, Ole is laughing on the back seat.Finally we reached tariff ONE!I wiped off sweat of my forehead and got off the cab. I could hear taxidriver swearing.
"Man, you seem to be pissed."
"Yea, I can´t believe that..."
"Don´t worry, FUCK those taxidrivers!"
Ole always puts me into spirits.

Christmas at the Orphanage

2007-04-01T15:13:00.000-07:00

“Hi, how are you?”
“I don’t know.”
A nine-year old boy is blankly looking at me. I’m looking at him. I don’t know what to say.
“How long you’ve been here?”
“Since yesterday,” he says.
We’re looking at each other and sweat is running down my face in this 35-degree hot weather. His Christmas started with the death of his parents.

People from the company where I work have been helping this orphanage on the edge of Rio, in one of the wildest part of the city, Duque de Caxias, for several years.

They go there every now and then and bring some money. A few enthusiasts built a roof and equipped the building with things like a refrigerator, washing machine, and stove.

I always knew they visit here but I never came along. I had a feeling they’d look at me like at a gringo who’s more interested in taking some pictures of the favela from the inside. I was probably also lazy to go to a place like this. But now I’ve decided to go. I’ll be handing out presents to the kids. It seems almost unreal. I feel a little like I am coming to atone for my sins.

The kids fall upon us. In a short moment, I have three little black kids hanging on my neck and three more are pulling my shirt.

“Uncle, uncle, I want up too.”

They don’t have anybody, neither daddy nor mommy who could hold them in the air and play with them. They’re begging for something that is for most kids, especially in Europe, a matter of course. They want, at least for a short moment, to experience that feeling of security of being held in the arms of an adult, somebody else than their caregivers.

My shirt is dusty and the kids are merry. The Christmas decorations are curling in the noon heat.

I walk through the orphanage. A few rooms, beds next to each other. Stuffed toys dominate the area.

The kids are showing off but I can still feel their longing for physical contact with an adult. They feel they should be close together with an adult somewhere else than in the dormitory. For example at home.

“Uncle, come on, I’ll show you where we play.”

A girl three years old or so with colorfully braided hair pulls on my hand. I go with her. It’d make a really funny picture. A two-meter tall gringo and a half-meter tall black girl walk hand in hand along the dusty road of an orphanage.

We look like a Christmas symbol. The children are standing in a row and we hand them presents. Everybody gets one. Every child, from three to twelve, stands and eagerly stares at the pile of the presents. Which one will they get?

I’m thinking about the orgies that take place in Europe. I don’t have to go too far, it’s the same in my house. Children attacking the Christmas tree, their eyes glowing, doggedly ripping the wrappings, and collecting their presents that they then spend the next hour moving to their room. However, prior to this madness, there is a three-month brutal campaign during which their exhausted parents – in the interest of the holiday of peace and ease – are forced to purchase things about which one really wonders.

I hand out the presents. A ball, doll, car… the children’s faces are almost grimacing with happiness. Once again, they want to be carried around, even the eight and nine-year old ones. Or at least get a hug. It seems that the feeling of having a family, which we’ve tried to bring them for this very short while, is the greatest gift they got.

Most kids get here because their parents die or leave them somewhere. The relatively dangerous life style in the poor neighborhoods easily fills up these establishments. They are usually run by volunteers who depend on contributions and the minimal help they get from the government. The community around then tries to help with forming different values for the children than banditism.

“Do you want to play catch?” I ask the boy I talked to initially. But it doesn’t work. He’s totally disoriented. He has no idea what’s going on, why he is suddenly here. Seven-year old Julio is holding his still wrapped present, dully staring straight ahead.

We finish handing out presents and the children wander around the small kitchen with their new toys. They perform a dance for us, and two girls sing a modern Brazilian song. Two boys are fighting over an old bike in the corner of a little courtyard.

“Uncle, could you swing me?” It’s my little girlfriend who earlier showed me the play area.

I push her on the swing. It squeaks, like in a movie.

She leans backwards and smothers me with laughter.

Vaclav Klaus(The Czech president)Likes to Be Photographed

2007-03-14T22:04:00.000-07:00

“Angela, I’ll strangle him to death with my own hands!”
“Calm down, George, calm down… why are you so upset?!”
“Always, ALWAYS when they are taking my pictures, this weird type suddenly appears next to me!”

“Which one? That one with the mustache?”

“Yeah, him, he’s driving me nuts!”

“Ha, I know him, he’s really annoying.”

“Once he tried to get inside the White House. I told them, purposely, to piss him off, to let that ‘Slovak’ in. But he wasn’t offended. He squeezed himself in and started pestering me!”

“Calm down, Mr. President, shhh…”

“No, I won’t calm down, I’m trying to solve the Iraq thing, terrorism, and the Middle East, and he keeps rambling on about the gross national product!”

“Hmm… George, you’re talking too loud!”

“What do you mean loud? I want him to hear it – maybe he’ll finally leave me alone!”

“Mr. President, Mr. President, look at the camera, just like this, Mr. President!”

“I CAN’T BELIEVE IT! It’s like when I was a little kid and my mother was always comparing me with the biggest NERD!”

“Ha, ha, yes, yes, I tried to talked to him the other day when he said that global warming isn’t caused by people, but when he picked up the phone, he was speaking Russian and said he was in Mongolia, so I gave up.”

“Now he’s coming to me because of tourist visa. VISA!!! I have to deal with the North Korean nuclear arsenal and this fellow wants me to repeal tourist visas for Czechs. And then he’s pestering me about the weak dollar. I DON’T KNOW WHY THE DOLLAR IS WEAK!”

“Shhh, Mr. President, shhh…”

“Mr. President, look at the camera, just like I DO!”

“NO, NO, NO! I must be dreaming!”

“Well, promise him something and he’ll leave you alone.”

“Impossible. If I promise him something, he’ll have always an excuse to visit me!”

“Hmm… that’s true. Looking at him, it won’t be easy. They say he’s supposed to be in office two more years… Hang on, did you say gross national product?”

“Yes, he always starts with something else but always steers it slowly back to that product thing.”

“I just remembered that when I talked to the most important Czech economist…”

“Wait, which one?… I have to write his name down.”

“Well, I think his name is Komarek.”

“Shhh, Mrs. Chancellor… shhh.”

“Could you, Mrs. Chancellor, look at the camera just like I DO!”

“I’m fainting!”

“George, hang on… he is pretty funny.”

“And what about that Kejmar?”

“Komarek… he used to be Fidel’s advisor.”

“WHAT!!!!”

“And he also used to head some kind of organization where this one was too. He told me that he would spend half of every day trying to settle disputes that this one was always creating – supposedly he would insult everybody, the reason being that gross product thing.”

“I can’t believe it. Fidel, GDP, nuclear weapons, visas… my head is spinning.”

“I really, really want to ask you to look finally at the camera, just like I DO!”

“Angela, help me… please.”

“Calm down, George… I will look at the camera, Mr. President, WHEN I WANT TO!”

Eye for an eye

2007-02-25T13:49:00.000-08:00

Naked Indians in trees are holding tommy guns. Their bodies are painted in war colors and their faces are beautifully sculpted. Even though the government proclaimed their territory a protected area, it doesn’t mean that their land was really saved from the white man. The year is 2007.

Lungs of the planet. Who came up with this stupid phrase?

Besides an oxygen production plant, it’s also the home of people. Some of the people living there have not been touched at all by civilization as we know and love it. This civilization hasn’t found them yet and “made them happy”.

They have their own habits and religions and they have no interest in those of the white man.

Government-sponsored research shows that there are 727 protected areas in Amazonia, but other research and satellite photos show that on twenty five percent of this land forest clearing continues the same as before they got on the list of protected areas.

Then the destruction supporters get on. They are sometimes called men of progress and product increase, and claim that researchers are anarchists and that what’s happening is not an outright clearing but only a selective timber cutting, which is actually better for the virgin forest than if there’s no cutting at all.

Then the cattle farmers claim that they need more cattle and that their cows just get confused in the forest. That’s why they need to burn the forest down, so they can create great meadows and feed the hungry masses. The result is that the majority of the forest isn’t cut down, as some people may think, but burned down. The fact that people live there is of no interest to the farmers - you know, they have to feed other people and make money, so they can raise more cows, and it’s for those cows they have to burn down a new living space.

Researchers timidly point out that the pictures speak clearly and if it continues this way, one won’t be able to breathe any more in a few years.

Politicians, bribed by the lumber and farmer lobbies, immediately curtail the funding of the researchers and explain to the public that the research isn’t valid because one of the researchers receives funding from the USA and his colleague has an illegitimate child.

The nervous public heaves a sigh of relief that there’s no danger with nature and immediately switches their attention to the world of soccer.

The area is so large that the law can barely be enforced there. The government does not have the money to pay an army of soldiers to send to the forest to enforce the law against wild lumberjacks and soybeans growers.

While this chattering is going on, hundreds of acres of virgin forest disappear every day together with unique plants, animals, and… people.

Indians do not see a tree as a “piece of wood”. For them, it’s a living creature who somebody, in their mind for no reason whatsoever, burns down alive or cuts down with a chain saw.

Death awaits every white man who tries to cut down a tree or destroy the forest on the territory of the Uru-eu-wau-wau tribe in the state of Rondonia.

Eye for an eye.

While in other protected areas the destruction of the forest has been increasing by tens of percent annually, on the territory of the mentioned tribe, it was just one percent in 2006.

The seat...

2007-02-18T14:43:00.000-08:00

I decided to stop for a beer at the pub by our house.
I went in and sat down on a chair. I was there for a while but nobody paid any attention to me, so I got up and walked to the counter.
“One beer please.”

The bartender looked at me and told me to sit down. I did.
I lit a cigar and put my foot on the bottom of the chair next to me.
The bartender looked at me and slowly ventured around the counter.
Finally…, hopefully he’ll bring me a beer, my first Czech beer after a long time, it’ll probably be pretty bitter but on the other hand there’ll be a lot of it.
“Take your feet off the chair,” I heard above me.
“Why? And where’s the beer?” I asked.
“Take your feet of the chair before I get pissed!”
I put my feet down and stared at my cigar. It’ll peg out soon, just like me. Oh well.
The bartender came with a beer. As usual, the glass wasn’t filled all the way and the beer had foam with huge bubbles, well, what can you do…
I took a sip and suddenly felt my youth coming back to me. The years spent with this beer, parties and drinking binges at cottages and in apartments… IT WAS GREAT.
I got a little too excited, put my foot on the rail, and the chair cracked and broke…
FUCK!
I saw the bartender coming around the counter again.
“I’m sorry, I’ll pay for it,” I almost wept.
The bartender took my beer glass and without a word went back to the counter.
I must have looked like I was crazy.
“Please, gimme my beer back.”
Without a word, he poured the beer down the drain.
“Please, I’ll fix the chair, I’ll take it home and fix it, I know how,” I heard myself saying.
“I TOLD YOU NOT TO PUT YOUR FEET ON THE RAIL.”
“I’m really sorry…”
…
“Really, I’ll fix it.”
“Hmmm.”
“I’ll leave my ID here if you want me to…”
“Nooo… hmmm… you would really fix it…?”
“Yes, really, I know how to do it, I’ve fixed chairs before.”
“… OK… take the chair and bring it back tomorrow…”
I walked back to my table and picked the chair. I was sooo pissed, but I felt nobody could tell.
The bartender put his arm on my shoulder and walked out of the pub with me.
“You’re a good guy,” he said and squeezed the hand that was holding the chair.
“Hmmm,” I said and turned away.
There was a line of parked cars in front of me, ending at the intersection about fifty meters away, at the corner where I live.
I grabbed the chair and with all my strength slammed it against the ground. The actual chair fall apart in little pieces, but its seat rebounded and rapidly flew away above the sidewalk.
I heard some screams, but at this prolonged moment of time I was mesmerized by the seat as it rebounded from the sidewalk and jumped on the hood of the closest car, and from there on to another one…
I got scared that exactly at this moment somebody would drive by, the seat would fly straight into the driver’s face, and he’d be dead…
FUCK, I didn’t anticipate that.
“I’ll kill you, you fucking asshole,” I heard next to me.
Shut up, that’s not important right now, I answered the challenge in my mind.
“Guys, come here, look Frankie, this asshole…” I heard from a distance.
But all my attention was fixed on the flying seat. It was jumping from one car to another and it seemed it was accelerating more and more.
Jesus, please, don’t let anybody drive by right now, it could kill him…
“You bastard, I don’t want to ever see you around here again!”
“Well, I won’t be around, ever, don’t worry,” I heard myself answering.
The seat bounced off the last car and disappeared behind the corner.
It seemed that no car was coming. Uhhh… great, what a relief, I was already imagining myself in jail for murder…
I went home.
The seat was lying in front of the door. I picked it up and looked at it for a second. Goddamned seat.

In the bar Samuraj...

2007-02-06T08:17:00.000-08:00

A car stopped in front of the bar.
Three black men got out and argued with the cab driver. He was getting shit and that was good. After a while he slammed the door and took off. The blacks headed to the bar towards me.
That was bad.

Shit, nooo, maybe they won't notice me.
I started intensely looking at cases of empty beer bottles like they were something very interesting. I felt their eyes on me, getting closer and closer, three huge black dudes… and me, maybe big, but pale, GRINGO...
Then I felt something move by my leg. Excellent, at least the dog's here with me, maybe they'll think it's mine and leave me alone. I looked down and realized that the dog had left. ASSHOLE, fucking goddamned asshole…
I grabbed my glass and pretended I was drinking. I hid my gringo face a little behind my hand, hoping it wouldn't be so obvious I'm of that different race.
Just in case of a fight, I rearranged the keys in my other hand so I could shove them in somebody's fucking face. I began shivering and felt sweat trickling down my ass.
I checked the other side of the street. There was somebody standing at the building door.
Who the fuck is standing there, some kind of juggler or what… and what the hell is he swinging with, some kind of pole or what???
I focused my exhausted eyes and the brothers froze in their steps, just like in the Matrix.
I saw a figure in a black habit with a huge scythe in her hand. She beckoned to me and made a notch in the air with her scythe. Her move was incredibly fluent, it was great to watch it because it was like thousands of pictures compressed in one. When she finished the move, she lifted her head and turned towards me; I curiously stared in the direction where I expected her eyes.
They were the eyes of a teacher from high school who died two years ago. Suddenly I had the same feeling like when he used to go to my parents and snitch on me and when I had to go down in the elevator to open the building door for him and he would be jovially punching me on my shoulder and laughing, "Well, Ivan, you got another whipping coming, eh, ha, ha, ha…"
I began shivering, my whole body was trembling. I realized the brothers were still standing in their tracks.
My eyes were fixed on one spot and I couldn't move them, I felt time vibrating inside of me, it wanted OUT, but I was holding it, no fucking idea how, but I was!!
A girl walked by the bar. She passed by the brothers, who were frozen in the middle of their step towards the bar, and continued in the direction of the bus stop.
I finally managed to take my eyes off the figure in the cape and looked at the girl's ass.
BANG! I heard and the brothers finished their steps. They were still in slow-motion but accelerating towards normal pace. They had just two more steps to make and they talked among each other in some strange lingo.
I wasn't able to get a word out and felt the car keys slipping out of my hand. I expected them to ram a knife into me, take everything I had, have a beer, and continue on their way, wherever that was.
I was contemplating how it would feel, to look at a knife sticking out of a belly… my own belly… how long would it take before the brain realizes the body's dying… what will I feel?!
"Three beers, old man!" shouted the biggest one and sat down on a chair.
I felt a hand on my shoulder. Jesus fucking Christ, thank God the keys slipped out of my hand because otherwise I would have, at this moment, shoved them into the man's fucking trap.
I turned my head.
It was the brother closest to me. He was smiling at me, showing his perfectly white teeth. Another one, the biggest one, had his curly hair done up into a bunch of little dreads that were, some way or another, glued to his skull. The third brother had a shaved head and a shit load of scars. All three of them wore humongous gold rings on their fingers and chains around their necks.
I knew they were from the other side. Nobody in this town wears gold like that because nobody can be SURE that somebody else won't mug him…
"Tchau, how's it goin'?" asked the one who had his hand on my shoulder.
"Great, excellent."
"I've seen you here before, they said you're from ..Finland."
"No, I'm from the Czech Republic."
"What the fuck is that, some kind of a country or what…"
The brothers looked at each other and started laughing…
I felt a rush of peace. They're all right! They don't want to kill me…
I smiled.
It took them a while before they could grasp that the local term for pussy is also a country in the heart of Europe, where I come from, and that such a country lies between Germany and Russia. I understood them, if I were them, I wouldn't be interested even where Germany is.

From the book "Short message" - release 2005

in the airplane...

2007-02-06T08:16:00.000-08:00

"Should we go for lunch, Cris?"
"Not to the cafeteria though, supposedly there's cockroaches in the food sometimes."
"So what, I've eaten them before, they weren't too bad."
Cristina gestured like she wanted to puke.
I ate them in Thailand. We got trashed and ate frogs, then crickets, and in the end roasted cockroaches from a bag. I ate them on the way to our hotel. Then it became kind of weird and I threw them out the window.

The next day I flew from Bangkok via Vienna to Denver. Vienna was still all right.
The jumbo jet took off. I was looking forward to seeing Ludek and forgot all about the cockroaches.
Not far from Greenland I went to the bathroom. I needed to piss real bad because I always have to drink a shit load of beer beforehand in order not to be scared that the plane will go down.
I got in line and waited for my turn.
When I was three people away from the can, I had the piss almost in my underwear. I was fighting it. I could have said, people, let me go please, or I'll piss in my pants, but I didn't do it. Inborn shyness.
My anal muscles were holding on by their last strings.
Finally it was my turn. I let the anal muscles go. I felt an unbelievable freedom and relief…
After the marvelous feeling passed, I smelled something stink. Goddamnit, somebody had to shit here before me, nooo.
I reached down and found out that it was actually me who stunk. Watery shit was dripping down on my legs.
I immediately remembered the line of people waiting outside for their turn. I had to leave. I had to let them use the bathroom!!! Jesus Christ, what a situation.
I took off my underwear full of shit and put them in the toilet. I pushed the button. The lid opened and my underwear disappeared. I imagined it falling on somebody's head or car.
I washed my hands and in stinky pants, still with pieces of shit in them, stumbled out.
I could read one big question in the eyes of the waiting people.
WHAT WERE YOU DOING IN THERE SO LONG???!!!
You wouldn't believe it, but I was flushing down my underwear full of shit.
I spent the rest of the flight in the line and only four ibuprofens eventually saved me.
"Are we going for lunch?"

From the book "Short message", release 2005

ONE DAY IN LIFE

2007-02-06T08:10:00.000-08:00

It's the third of January and outside I can hear the noises of the summer.Buenos Aires. Good Air.
I make myself a cup of coffee and get on the Internet.
I read the New Year's speech of the Czech president, who is constantly trying to impose his old ideas on the life of regular people.
Pissed off, I go to the balcony. Summer is in full swing. The summer holidays started a long time ago. I watch people jogging in the parks with hundred-year old beautiful trees.

I look at the concrete of the buildings behind the park. Concrete after concrete, as far as I can see.
I turn my email on and begin dealing with the stuff that needs to be solved over the phone.
I'm not going to the office because I'd lose an important hour of my time. This hour is super important for somebody who works for a Finnish company in Argentina. If I REALLY want to solve anything, I have to get a hold of the Finns before they leave for home. They're FIVE hours ahead of me!
I'm making phone calls and sending electronic data.
Usually, I manage to do everything I need to by eleven.
My boss calls me.
"Where are you?"
"Well, at home..."
"What? How come you're at home?!
"Well, why not, I'm home..."
"You're supposed to be at the office!"
"But I work..."
"Move it, when are you coming in?"
"Twelve!"
"WHAT!!??"
"Well..."
I pack my notebook and head out.
In the distance, I see the skyline of the commercial center and two towers, black copies of the Twin Towers in New York.
I have to switch the ventilation in my car to the internal circuit.
The well-conceived bus transportation system of GOOD AIR causes long lines of standing old buses with running engines.
I finally reach the parking garage.
"Como estás, MASTRE?"
I throw my car keys towards an Indian boy and walk to the office.
The streets are full of elegantly dressed women and men in suits.
It must be a part of the culture – whoever doesn't have a suit is a nobody.
I think about it when I'm waiting at the intersection. The noise is so loud I can't hear people talking just a couple feet away from me.
The light turns green.
None of the pedestrians move. Nobody wants to throw his life away.
Buses and cars are racing across the crossing even though the light is green for the pedestrians.
Too bad for a European who expects the same as at home, for example cars yielding to pedestrians.
I know I have about fifteen seconds to run across the hundred-meter wide street.
When I get two-thirds across, the light starts blinking red.
I hear the drivers stepping on the gas pedals, getting ready to let the clutch go as soon as possible. I'm running as always, as fast as I can. I make a great leap to overcome the last few meters.
Just in time. The cars are speeding just behind me.
I wipe the sweat off my forehead and enter the tower.
My boss Anders shakes my hand and smiles.
"Remember, you've got to be POSITIVE."
"Look, Anders, there're times you've got to be NEGATIVE towards somebody, especially in this part of the world."
"No, you must be positive," he says and disappears to make deals worth millions of dollars.
I start working and suddenly spot Onur entering the office where a hundred people sit in ten rows.
O MY GOD.
It's because the Argentineans kiss each other when they see their friends. It's ok when it's a man with a woman. However, the problem is they do it even when they are two men.
Since I don't feel good when a man touches me, I'm getting a little nervous that Onur will make it all the way to me.
Onur is quickly coming closer, row by row.
Whuff….
He shakes my hand and hugs me.
I have to hold on to my desk, even though I'm actually sitting.
"Que pasa?"
"NADA, nada...estoy cansado." Nothing, I'm tired, I say.
"Ivan, let's go for lunch!"
"Ok." I look at the pile of work in front of me. I know that I won't do anything else after lunch.
Lunches last two, sometimes even two and half hours.
To get out of the cold skyscrapers into the heat of the street is pleasant. It's warm outside, not freezing like in… inside the skyscraper.
Once in the bar, the traditional war of nerves starts. To catch the waiter's eye is an act of art that even the locals haven't mastered. Just like under the commies in those establishments which used to be supervised, from the post of deputy minister, by today's Czech prime minister.
They look at everything but you.
Beef is a NECESSITY and desert is a must.
I look nervously at my watch. I have the feeling of losing a terrible amount of time. We've been at lunch already two hours...
We come back to the office at three.
I take an office coffee and, through a glass wall, watch boats entering the port.
I'm looking at the water.
It's brown, dirty, and without waves. It's a river but also a sea. A river's estuary a hundred miles wide. You can't swim in it. I went to the docks once and the water was bubbling in decay.
The meeting starts at four. We'll get together and call our colleagues inland.
We take care of a territory as big as Western Europe plus a piece of the Apennine Peninsula but, thanks to modern technology, we don't need to be everywhere. Everything important is said in just about one hour.
It's good that everybody keeps to the point. Well, who'd want to be at a meeting longer than an hour!
I go back to my desk and pass by Anders.
"Are you working positively?" he asks me importantly.
"Of course, I'm as positive as a neutron!" I reply.
Anders makes a disagreeable face and walks away.
I collapse into my chair.
I usually stay at the office until about eight. When I'm leaving, Anders waves at me from the glassed room.
In the pub, I have a tuna salad for dinner and watch TV. Maradona on the screen is pissed. It seems that he was arrested in Brazil. I get scared it could start a war.
With my head full of black thoughts, I climb into the bar on the corner.
Vero is the owner. Kissing with her is incomparably more pleasant than with Onur.
"What happened with Diego?" I ask worriedly.
"Nothing really, he got lost at the Rio de Janeiro airport and then, extrovertly, wanted them to stop the departing plane, so they arrested him for three hours."
"I see," I calm down, finish my beer, and go to bed.
It'll be THE SAME tomorrow, but that's OK.

Published in czech magazine RESPEKT in March 2006.