Lockdown Day 38: Wednesday 29th April, 2020
Noch andere?”
“Bitte.”
We laughed. We drank. We grew up.
The neonAzi wandered over wearing a deathshead smile and Grateful Dead T-Shirt. An uncanny Teutonic likeness without the roses.
“Schottische, nicht wahr?”
“Ja.”
“Dudelsack?” He mimicked a madman carrying a burning swan trying to beat the flames out with his elbow.
“Aye, I play the pipes. Can’t say I’m much good though. I can reel off a jig and just about skirl a decent piobreachaid.”
“Schottland the Brave!”
“Aye, I can play Scotland the Brave.
“Und the skirt?
“The kilt? Aye. And the kilt.”
“Hier? Im Nurnberg?”
“No sorry, not tonight.”
He introduced himself. He was Max and the older guy that looked like a storm-trooping weasel in silver-plated chains, cheap tattoos and third hand leather was Mosel. As we misconnected in mangled English the boob-baring babe sensed some opportunity and bounced over into the mix. Tall and slim, six foot in her six inch heels, she leaned in to stroke my long hippy locks, ”Sie haben fabelhaftes, langes, glattes haar, wie ein kleines Madchen. Sie sind sehr hubsch. Ein hubschen Jungen. Heiraten Sie mir.”
Angel would not have been happy.
The three-legged stool I was sitting on shook like a leaf. It had a wobbly leg.
I blushed, “I have no idea what you just said, so I’ll choose to take it as a compliment. You’re pretty spectacular yourself.”
“You are far too pretty for a boy,” she whispered melodically, “Beware the jealousy. Never outshine the handmaidens of the sun.”
The bar-stool wobbled some more.
Suddenly, sensing better possibilities in the wasteland drunk lurching through the door, venal Venus sized up his trajectory, sidled along the counter and was miraculously right next to where he landed at the haven bar in that dark ocean of waning night. “Hallo.” she sang, fluttering pleading lashes at him.
I sighed for the night. A wonderful beast of promise and prey, penitent proles, prostitutes and priests, prayer and insidious perfidy. Perfection.