In our town there is a large bridge over the river Danube. The other night we had to cross it to get from one bar to another. Some of us were in a car and two on a motorbike...
Some days later, the owner of the car got a speeding ticket with a notice to report to the police, so he went to the station to make further inquiries.
When he asked why the fee was so unusually high, the officer on duty simply said: 'Come with me, Sir.' Thereupon latter showed him a picture: on it was a guy from our group leaning his upper body out of the car backdoor-window in the process of passing a beer-bottle to a guy we call Sexmachine (cause he looks a bit like a certain character from a movie) who was driving the bike greedily anticipating the generous offer with an outstretched arm.
I grew up
in a small village at the fringe of the city of Vienna; when I was little, I came to believe
that many older people were ‘bad’ cause of the way they looked at me. It was
only much later that I heard that most of them had actually worked for my great
grandfather and were consequently only looking at me in a strange condescending
fashion so to gloat over the decline and downfall of my family’s fortune. My
grandmother told me that, true, the Russians after the War had blundered lots
of our stuff but that, were one to look into the homes and houses of that
village, one would find at least as much of our furniture there as the
occupation army had taken for spoils.