Ok, So there's a lot of catching up to do. To summarize, I moved out of Horb, squatted in Tuebingen for a weekend, went to Florence, went to Bosnia, now I'm in Tuebingen. We'll do this in parts so as not to bore the reader (and I mean that literally in the singular)
Part I: Moving to Tuebingen, getting to Florence
Part II: Florence
Part III: Bosnia
Part IV: Tuebingen, reflexions.
Here we go with Part I:
Like March 29th or some shit, I rolled up to Tuebingen from Horb with the intention of knocking some people’s teef out. That is, pay my deposit, and beg for a room to be ready by April 1st. I manage the first without major complication and then get lost, walk through a fucking cornfield somehow, and end up searching for nearly 20 minutes up and down a street for my building…which was easily the largest structure in the area, and one which I had already passed minimum 4 times. I bump into the landlord and ask you know, what the deal is, can I please move in, etc. The problem is, by the way, that I’m supposed to bounce out of Horb on the 2nd at the latest, and then the next day, catch a flight to Florence, Italy to talk in a stupid voice with friends. (The same voice from Paris, it doesn’t want to be extinguished) Sadly, the cat who is living in my scheduled residence doesn’t have to theoretically be gone until the 1st…a date which I cannot move in on since it’s a Saturday and everything here is closed, including Landlord Fries’s office with my key and shit. Anyway, long story short, after putting on the old Maleek charm, the landlord gives me a key to an empty room on the 5th floor and says “SHHH.” We plan to meet then Monday morning at 8 promptly, a point which I strongly emphasize, as I need to HUSTLE to the airport.
Get back to Horb later that day, and that night we all say our goodbyes to all our friends. That shit’s always sad and no fun. Saturday, I mulled about packing and then the Webers gave me a ride to Tuebingen with all my shit. The instant we parked the car it started raining hard as hell. After we threw all my shit into my “room” AKA place I’m squatting for a couple of days. They were really thrilled by the presence of a discount grocery store and we hung out there for a while…
When we said goodbye I started getting settled in by just unrolling my sleeping bag on the filthy mattress and odd linens that Pete (landlord) contributed. Suddenly, Maira and some other fools from Horb let me know they were already in Tuebingen after a day trip to a nearby town so we met at this hip pub with plush leather seats and leather bound volumes and shit. We started throwing back a few beers, then got hungry and went out for wine and lasagna – our waiter was THE most interesting waiter ever, he was like Pakistani but spoke bits and pieces of nearly every language. It didn’t take long before he was making dick jokes :-/ We went back to the bar to watch Real Madrid v. Barcelona and eventually got wasted. We said goodbye one more final time (you’d think) before going home but no 10 minutes after I got to my room I started getting a series of calls from Dario. Naturally, there were no more trains running to Horb and, perhaps, could they (Maira, Dario, Gabriello, and Isreal) sleep here? They make it to the neighborhood I’m in and when 10 minutes go by that they’re not knocking, I call and he says “we’re downstairs.” So shit, I run downstairs in my sleeping threads and naturally, they’re not there. Reason now indicates that he went into some other fucking building, most likely knocking on some poor family’s door at 3AM. I eventually here his stoopit laff like an entire block over, find him, start wrestling and then we all go back in. Then we all laughed about nothing for like a solid 30 minutes and I was positive I would get discovered for residing illegally in a residence and get locked the fuck up in jail…and miss my flight. Eventually, we get to bed, with Gabriello I believe, sleeping sitting against the wall.
That morning , we finally actually said goodbye and then I caught up on the sleep I missed by chasing Mexicans and Brazilians down the street at 3AM. On waking, I did some tactical packing as well so that come Monday I could throw one bag with shit I don’t need into my room and have the other bag ready for the trip. The way I had it planned was Pete and I would meet up at 8, do a key swap, I run upstairs, throw a bag and some shit into the room, hustle to the bus stop right outside. Get to the train station, grab a train to Herrenberg, and then take the S-Bahn (El) to Stuttgart airport. That would put me at the airport at an ideal time. Naturally, things didn’t really work out this way…
The tactical packing works out great, I’m ready to rock and am outside Pete’s door at 7:55AM. I see a note. I read it. “Komm gleich züruck” (Be right back.) OK, Pete I’m waiting. 5 minutes “what the fuck” 10 minutes “uhhhhh” 15 “no. no. no.” 20 minutes run up to Carie’s room, wake her up, throw my shit in there, run to the bus stop… no we wait. Realize, this is basically an exact repeat of what happened in Paris. I plan relatively properly, am on (again, relatively)time…then due to a absurd combination of both my own laziness and chowderheadedness in the past as well as pure coincidental misfortune, I get fucked – and so, yet again, I’m on public transportation with all my belongings on my back staring at my feet, trying to keep my blood pressure down, repeating “The way things happened, are the only way they could have happened.” Also like the technique I patented in Paris, and which I recommend to everyone running late for something important, I refuse to look at the time until I get there. When I jump off the train, I realize I have 5 minutes to buy my ticket and jump on the train…first machine I get to doesn’t take cash. Next one I find on the other side of the station doesn’t take 50s. None of them do. I run to get it exchange, stop, realize I have a 10 in my pocket. Run back, get the ticket. Run to the platform just in time to watch my train 100m away from me, happily departing, with the conductor spreading his asshole on the window to me while some kid on the back waves the finger.
There are no more trains to the airport that will get on time for my flight. I imagine calling Ben and telling him what had happened and the tears I imagine welling in his eyes are enough to fuel me further. I compose myself and patiently wait in line at the ticket line. Maybe there’s still a shot with a train, or at least a fucking refund. Of course no refund, no train either. BUT…there is a bus that will get to the airport a half hour before my flight. Is that cutting it or what. My ticket explicitly reads that the Germanwings window closes an hour before the flight, but why not try, I’ve nothing better to do today. I get a tea and wait anxiously. I’m also getting sick and my throat does that thing where you have to clear it like every swallow…terrible. So the bus shows up, I sit down and watch a reeeeal good episode of Lost (I’m all caught up). That takes away most of the anxiety of missing a chance of meeting good friends in a wonderful place. After collecting myself from the events on the Island, I perched near the door waiting to start hustling like a fucking maniac as soon as the doors sprung open. They did. I did. I have learned how to fucking MOVE with a ton of shit on my back these last few months. I don’t need to read signs, my eyes have learned to recognized DEPARTURES and ARRIVALS out of the blur of periphery vision and speed as I mow through couples and children embracing their loved ones goodbye. As I arrive half-crying to the Germanwings terminal some guy’s yelling “Bologna? Bologna!?” I’m like “word.” He rushes my shit on, checks with lightning speed, and sends me on my way. I coolly glided through security, jammed into the last remaining crevice of air on the back of the bus to the tarmac, and set my shit down. I smiled, coughed, and began to rehearse funny sayings in The Voice which I knew would dominate my life for the next…I didn’t know, I had bought a one way ticket – an element which would cause more action and excitement later.
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