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Accetto Chudi

A night out

by Matteo F.M. Sommaruga

We gather close to the city centre. A friend of mine and I are looking for some seductive glance from young ladies. Especially those who have just ended the University and are looking for a first job, even part time. They are perhaps going on with a Master, or also collecting some extra money to be put together with the limited income of a Ph.D.
The square is quite dark, but I am feeling well protected. The local police has not already been infiltrated by the influence of a political lobby and marauders, whatever could be the social disease they are affected of, are treated as puny criminals. Only some relative advancement in basic civil rights would save them from the gaol, since a simple and straightforward thought is a definite prerogative of this part of the world. Reasoning according to the logic and with the feedback of the five senses. The constable does not read Marx and even the common people is quite ignorant of any rhetorical exercise on moral, punishment and prejudices.
The friend is a Briton, and would enjoy a good ale accompanied by a pretty view. There are quite a lot of places, all around an area, that could satisfy his demands, but two are especially apt to guarantee the highest level of satisfaction. In both of the cases the name is not so important to remember, nobody knows it. Just a black label and a couple of lights, some neon lamps, couches and chairs, tables covered by empty bottles of Schweppes, few posters and memorabilia from the 1980s. My favourite one preserves the original case of a Pacman, survived from the rust of an arcade. Only the electronic is missing or that machine alone could have easily collected as much money as the ripe breast of a young and smiling waitress. It is perhaps expected to be loaded with some survived D-Mark coins.
I am waiting for a long time to develop some brilliant idea. The most authentic advantage of capitalism is the value given to risk and imagination, at best to the whole couple. The evening should be however devoted to purposeless targets, something it's affordable just in a thriving economy or under desperate circumstances. I move the attention of that friend of mine on three nice and young gals, in a corner of a dark bar. He is a former RAF flying officer and understand the hint of a squadron leader. We will be soon upon them. Perhaps they would escape, with some boring conversation that will leave us to stare astonished at the wall. It is enough to say nothing more than, "Ah, yes... got to go".
The human nature could still be on our side and we have not already got even the slightest plan. It's like to open a startup with almost no money, no customers and not even a clear business plan. Those kind of companies that could survive just with the sustain of university budget and friendships in the right places. Quite common on the other side of the borders, ruled by socialist economy.
The time is over, the barkeeper should dislodge us before we have even tried any sort of initiative. The three are still chatting on the couch and seem completely uninterested by the company of a man. We are not even so strongly interested by the attraction of the opposite sex. The illusion of a fast career, some business plan portrayed as the silver bullet that will soon land on the Tech DAX are just enough to boost our eneergies and relieve us from the boring existence of a clerk.

social social social print

On the other side of Berlin Wall

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