For breakfast, Fleischer tried in vain to analyze his dream, but quickly landed in the present. With girls, this was a common thing here in Berlin, very common even. Fleischer could not make a right impression. In Kreuzberg, it was not only in the question of clothing that it was pretty bourgeois and light. The girls, who, for God's sake, could not be called that, were equipped with a portion of self-confidence and brazen. Which also had its charm. Even the youngest were in a constant fighting position. Defended their emancipatory rights, were organized in women's groups and women's councils and liked to live in self-determined flats. Whatever that meant. Furthermore, there were plenty of esoteric groups dealing with rebirth, life before life and dream interpretation. And the magical itself. These groups, surprisingly, had a lot of access to both sexes. While thinking about such things, Fleischer looked at his bi and triceps in the small mirror of the non-existent beard. And that was developable. Fleischer sighed and put the shaving brush out of his hand again. He would get himself shaved in the salon Igel today, in order to give a good figure tomorrow. Subsequently, he would buy an expander and shoelaces in Süke's sports shop. The shoes were also worn out. It was already the second pair. And at Eris in Zipp, he would get himself the new Alice Cooper, to tune in for the upcoming concert in the Deutschlandhalle. Inge greeted him in the salon. As always, she wore a light flag for the short dress. Mr. Igel, he had learned the barbering on the air balloon, personally hit the foam and ended the shave with the question, Sharp? Fleischer unknowingly chose sharp and was badly fogged up with a Schwall Tobacco Original. Dude, where are you from? Eris crumpled irritatedly, sniffing the forehead, first offered a joint with the best black, in order to make the figure stand out, and handed him the new disc from Alice. The strobe-blonde Süke in the sports shop was also half a meter behind at first. Fleischer noticed the swedish grin, when she opened the door to say goodbye with recognizable distance, and he, with his small packet of sports equipment, kicked in the dust. Already after a few meters, he had the cold sweat on his forehead. Eight small discs of one and a quarter kilo each could not be so damn heavy, but the poles also weighed a good kilo each, at least. But the leather braids did not go out of his head, you had to be very well trained. Unhandedly, the plastic bag slipped back and forth with the LP, the arms were shaking. In the oasis, he took a short break against his inclination to the locality. The first beer evaporated regularly. Slowly he recovered and ordered a second one. The Rottweiler looked dangerous, and the hostess surprisingly similar. Or vice versa. The couple acted like a time bomb. Surrounded by danger, he ordered a third one. The Rottweiler approached, sniffing and infecting, to finally sit directly in front of Fleischer and, with a deep sigh, to put the giant head on his knee, the brown giant eyes pointed more attentively at him. Fleischer did not drink a fourth beer. The hostess smelled an extremely strong smell. He picked up the fight with his unhandy luggage again and thought of pretty blonde and black-haired, in any case pretty northern German girls, whose light spring clothes were played around by the eternal headwind and who wore nothing but, if at all, a small slip underneath. Maybe earrings. And to the one actually very attractive, slightly red-haired, whom he had met more often recently. Bella. Bella, the name fit. When he had arrived at home completely exhausted, he put Alice on the plate and himself on the sofa. The bar training was first postponed. The transport was enough for the beginning. Regeneration was announced. The work would also rest. After homemade pizza, a few beers, a bottle of Amselfelder and an opium hash mix, he fell asleep to Miles Davis' Bitches Brew, relaxed. After that he dreamt neither of Maggie nor of Cola. Not even of Bella. The next morning he began with the repeated attempt, with very light bar and expander training, to approach the girl dilemma. After a work visit in the Hasenheide, he then chatted away the day and appeared on time at the boys in the rose. Here there was the one and the other beer and the fake Alice Cooper tickets for the Welcome to My Nightmare concert were distributed. The curry sausage cut by scissors at Aunt Annie's at the Cottbus Gate was self-evident and Annie's pink piggy bank squeaked a funny farewell greeting before she then took the line 1 to the Deutschlandhalle. With a fake ticket as well. Or without at all. Of course they took one of the smokers' wagons at the end or beginning of the train. From there on the uniformed controlettis could be seen quickly and the chance of escape was greater. Now they made a few joints in the hollow hand and covered the round in the heavily-smoked compartment. Nobody got up. The fake tickets didn't fly up. The Deutschlandhalle was well filled, the sound was excellent and the conductor himself in top form. After the concert, the group moved on. A few people saw each other for the first time today through the night and visited different locations. Bella was also there. Of course I didn't let the meat-eater down, especially since she made him pretty beautiful eyes, he thought. When they greeted the rising sun with a joint, they sat squeezed together on some bank, in some car, 13 men sang on the dead man's box and laughed their heads off. I can't go on anymore. The driver abruptly got out and first handed himself over and then the wagon key, namely to the stupid meat-eater. You can drive now, he said. The meat-eater was irritated. You drive, I'll pick him up again. He disappeared, muttering. Like in a fairy-tale, the meat-eater suddenly sat alone with Bella in the car. She was indeed enchanting and sexy. But the next morning she was no longer there. Neither the next day nor the following week did he meet her and the owner of the car either. Both were devoured by the ground.