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SECTION 1
“PERSONAL DOOMSDAY”
There is no other descriptive word, considering what happened thereafter.
It was a warm day in April, that I make the worst decision in my life - privately, I mean, a day that I run with open eyes into disaster. It was my private doomsday, the day I got to know my second wife. Bright and fickle as a butterfly, Martha had appeared on the scene, resulting in a series of more-or-less accidental and rather meaningless meetings, meetings, which due to their almost tentative regularity, finally led into us ending up together. Martha was the companion of a fellow student of my friend Uli. His name was Marco, he had blonde hair and his features were soft almost feminine, one could say. He was the son of a customs agent at the port of Hamburg, and following his father’s footsteps, it was his declared goal to become a CIF agent, probably because that sounded important and put his future profession semantically close to the CIA, which was meaningful for him - he was that stupid. Of his father it was said that at work he wore sleeve guards. Whether that was fact or fiction is not really important; in any case that was the picture that one could easily get of Marco's ambition in life. None of us understood how he got hold of this full-blooded, woman with striking long red hair that went down to her hips and a figure and looks going with it. She was stewardess with Hapag Lloyd Airlines ( an ill fated investment of the once famous shipping line) and only god in his infinite wisdom would know how she had ended up with a perceived crock head like Marco, to say nothing of having sex with him, as none of us believed that he had a real dick. Constantly dirty remarks were being made, such as:
"Marco, how many hours of sleep does your cock need per day, or doesn’t it ever wake up?”
Even in her presence. She never came to his aid but smiled deviously, like she enjoyed his humiliation. Sometimes she joined us during the nightly rambles of the disparate clique that had formed in my college years - and sometimes she turned up at parties, but always late at night - at a time when the pitch darkness of the night was thinking of making room for dawn. She reacted distant and coolly to me, what I interpreted in my boundless self-esteem, a hidden sign of interest; apart from that a rebuff was for me a stimulant of a special type. Therefore I decided to wait for the right moment. I did not want to show up as a failure in front of my friends. But the whole thing was more like a game, a challenge for the purpose of winning, with no real intentions. It was more to prove, that I can have what I want, when I want.
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