ranzugehen I had no desire. Even on my own birthday, I'm not like the phone when my mother calls, and how it behaves with accusations and claims on an ordinary day, should be known. After the fifth attempt, I recognized a sense of urgency and took off.
Me: Yes, Mom, I know that Uncle Helmut is dead.
You: Yes, yes, exactly. At last, I mean terrible.
Me: Do not say no, I will come to the funeral.
you: Oh God, no, to such Sozialbegräbnisse I do not go yet. As the snacks always taste so after Aldi.
Me: Well, it is enough that is when I go to my own funeral with the priests standing alone at the grave.
you: They called the nursing home. Helmut's room must be cleared today, or we have to pay it off next week.
Me: Oh, no.
you: And so you must go to the nursing home and cleaning out the stall.
Me: Why me? I do not even have a car.
you: Shut up. It is sufficient if you dispose of the matters in the gray bin in front of the home. The main thing the room is empty. Do you know how much such a retirement home space will cost a week? We are unable to attend. Today is the big golf tournament.
The cops had cleared the scene again to clear out. In addition to Helmut's room smelled of decay are still pushing the same for alcohol. In order to work in style can, I asked the nursing home staff to white full body suits, but was fobbed off with cheap plastic disposable gloves and mouth guards. I packed his clothes in hard black bags pinched me off a denim jacket that looked like jail, and therefore perhaps brings me on the street respect or at least a small donation and then tried to fit the small tube TV from the wall bracket. After a few adjustments I wanted to stow away just because I promised twenty euros from the pawnbroker, but was held back by the staff, pointing out that it would be, the device is the property of the nursing home. One can try. Except empty bottles was still a lot of other garbage: Two legal-rock CDs from the early 90s, a playboy of 74 and an original edition of the striker of 44 I could sell the channel cleaner Mike, I just thought, until I stumbled on a cookie jar. I found a small, hardcover book and a stack of old letters. I took out one and found that it was about prostitutes and prison conditions. Interesting literature also.
the cookie jar I kept, the rest I threw as prescribed in the gray bin. With my luck I would have caught the constitutional protection before I could sell the paper profit to a collecting Naziopa. My interest in entertaining Playboy was gone, but I figured that the former beauty of today, all over 50 had to be. The letters of cellmate Jürgen however have incredible entertainment value and not only because of the spelling errors. I have decided to read each day, like a calendar with Bible texts. And not to forget, of course, went on Helmut's walking stick in my possession, you never know when you may need the. On the bus ride home there was at least no problems.
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