TO BE CONTINUED part 9:

A TALE OF THEFT.

The deep immorality hit me this morning at 0819 at my favourite local coffee shop: I am but a pissing lie. How could I do it, and think that would be no consequences? Am I ok? No, I am not OK, I am the club pissing lie. How could I not pay only because I had the chance? How could I sweet talk that shop-assistent just last Sunday racing back from Copenhagen, divert her from the fact that I had indeed just fed the Volvo a full tank of gas?
I could and I wanted to, I thought in the moment doing it, because I overheard a conversation she had with two guys who would never win my sympathy – not that they needed it – but, I just didn’t like them. I didn’t like the car they drove up in, I didn’t like their half ass talk about the tacky spoilers they put on the Opel Vectra. I didn’t like it as much as she did The signal she exposed, that she didn’t really have time for me waiting in the line. I hate that. When I am about to pay and I have to fucking ask to be waited on or merely served. Service in Denmark is at general historic low is what I think. Working up my temper I noticed it was an old school register. I was at a local gas shop somewhere in Denmark, no cooperate culture here, I noticed the surveillance camera was moist. My car couldn`t be spotted. She would hardly know that I had in fact driven there. So when I was up to be served, I ordered a hotdog, sweet talked her while she prepared it, got the hotdog, then went: “oops, I need smokes and a coke too…” which I had and paid for, but not the gasoline. Not the gas. I got back in the car, laughing to my self, and arrogant I waited for approximately 2 minutes tuning into some radio-station awaiting a reaction. But there was no reaction. So the gas was rightfully mine and I sped out of there. And forgot about it. Until this morning. Until this morning I was OK. Now I am not ok.

The coffee shop is packed. Men. Men going to work, men at work, taxi drivers (here in Retroville© they are all still white), craftsmen, outcasts and what not. Everybody is smoking as this is the only place you can in fact smoke and two things stood out that made the situation even more not OK.

Heated discussions at almost every table of the Mohammed Case. The case of discussion primarily based on today`s headlines in the tabloid press, sensationalistic, short sighted, brown but long lived.
I basicaly find the whole matter a question of stupidity meets stupidity. The global system is only illuminated by a careful study of the past.

At the tables not discussing the Mohammed case today`s topic – as so many other mornings I had my breakfast there, was the DIY spirit the discussion collectively represented. The amount of beers, smokes, candy that had crossed the danish-german border within the last month seemed without end. The amount of material for different projecst: garages, garden houses, dog houses, hen houses, new roofing, playgrounds and so on. And all of this: a moonshine, nepotistic survival of the fittest and proudest entrepreneur.
And, it never changes. I forgot that entering the place feeling OK. Now I don’t feel OK, I don’t even think I am OK. I am a pissing lie among pissing lies. It`s not OK.
“Get a grip son” someone shouted as I was leaving the place, not at me, but someone else, but does it matter? “Get a grip son” he shouted. “Everybody fucking does it”.

How can I be fucking OK?