Lothar's bedtime thoughts and memories

[Milan]

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Notepad — Entry #1
Bruchsal, Frankfurt, 17-04-827

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Sankt Pauli, Planet Hamburg. 807. Most probably in April.

Sky more lit than usual. Still a smile on my face from first love. On my way home. Through the Park of Rocks, yes, there. Unexpectedly, under the porch of the guardian's house, Dietmar's worried face, but always worried for nothing.

"Volker the Young's dead. Cops are looking for you. They've already arrested everyone. You're in big big big trouble Lothar." Jaw clenching much worse than from cold, me telling to myself 'Sounds like he enjoys it', but in a more violent way. Didn't respond and quickly got home. Wanting it to be over the-sooner-the-better.

Vati, Mutti, Zita – horrified. 'Come on, stop playing role model poor-yet-honestly-struggling family, stop playing dead'. Volker ain't dead, anyway. Policeman standing in the entrance-kitchen-living-room facing me on the doorstep, what might he be doing now? Compiling reports on rogue political activists, thinking of his retirement? Can't picture him this way. These days, I'm upholding what he taught me.

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