PART ONE
1.
I would drink all day.
I have always been depressed.
Or high.
Rarely in between.
A lazy bum who didn’t care about anything. I would just lie there staring at the wall. All day long. And then... I would run around frantically. I went from bad to worse. I hung out with scoundrels. I ended up who knows where.
It was going to fuck me up for the rest of my life. That damn dichotomy!
“You can apply for the gas pipeline, they need people to dig canals,” my buddy whispered to me. He was a curly-haired boy who always smiled, and his breath stank. He’d spray spit on me if he got too close.
He used to drink with me after he finished his karate training. Schweppes, Fanta, Coke... anything carbonated. He would wander around the city until he found me.
I asked him, “Why are you drinking that shit after training? You’ll get heartburn.”
“That makes me stronger, kiii!” he let out a goofy roar.
I did not ask him anything else. He was still paying for the booze anyway.
Something had to be done, I thought as I walked through a neighborhood slightly bigger than the one I lived in. I quickly reached the building. It looked like a health center. Or the municipal building. Well, it could have passed for anything. I timidly went inside.
The secretary greeted me. She was so tight that her tits and ass were fighting each other to catch their breath. There was a lot of meat and flesh squeezed in there. I wasn’t supposed to look directly.
The boss appeared to be over a hundred years old. He was likely younger, but he had undoubtedly entered a second retirement. He just shook his head when he heard why I had come.
“Come tomorrow at seven in front of the company.”
2.
“Shit, all pensioners and me,” I thought when the truck arrived. There must have been a couple of partially disabled guys, but I couldn’t make them out well. It was too dark inside. I accepted the half-liter bottle when my turn came and took a good swig – a cure for the shaking in the truck.
After half an hour, they unloaded us at a rutted canal.
The first day wasn’t so bad. The old people knew how to have a good time. Until it started raining. A light, persistent drizzle fell so steadily that there was no point in taking breaks.
I went down to the canal, just like all the younger ones. The invalids and pensioners were barking orders from above.
I had nothing against that company - the third age and the like. The gas line had to go through the town, and the old people were paid a pittance to clean out the trenches where the digger had screwed up earlier. Until a guy approached me at lunch. He was a little younger than them, but a lot older than me.
“You and I are similar,” he declared, as if it were biblical truth.
I chewed my bread and popped some more fried brains into my mouth.
“They’re not for us,” he said, pointing at the others. I thought maybe he wasn’t normal. What was he blabbering about?
“You and I are the same,” he nodded at me conspiratorially, and then walked away. I took a closer look at my plate and wondered what they were putting in our food. The food came from a kitchen in a nearby town. Surely they weren’t such scoundrels that they were putting some kind of crap in our food?! No, I quickly consoled myself. Uncle Tick was an isolated case.
The job wasn’t that bad. Anyone who liked physical fitness was in their element here. There was lots of swinging with a shovel, and less with a pickaxe. A bunch of bullshitters liked to play supervisor, living out their old age as unskilled workers. Some of them couldn’t stand real bosses either.
A small, fat guy - too young for a pension and probably an invalid - fidgeted a bit one morning. He could hardly wait for the boss to come. The boss was a sly guy with a fancy mustache, tall and stooped, but from laziness. It was a pose that let others know that he, too, used to work himself to death. It was an unusual way of gaining authority, but obviously tried and tested.
The small guy got in his face as soon as he came for lunch. (The boss, for fun, liked to have lunch with us.)
“What are you saying about me?”
The boss was quiet. Obviously, he wasn’t having a good day to confront him.
“Now you’re quiet as a mouse, you pussy…”
“Fuck off, Stanislav,” the boss replied, unable to hold it back.
“Don’t tell me what to do!”
“Don’t tell me either…”
“When did I ever say anything about you?”
“I didn’t say anything about you either.”
“Don’t shit me!”
The little rooster was already squaring up to him. It was interesting to watch how he would catch a guy two heads taller than him. Neither of them looked like fighters. They looked more like a team that would get drunk at a local party.
A few old men and a few invalids immediately rushed in between them. Too bad. A big pity. We had finished the canal on that side and had nothing else to do.
3.
That day was special, though it started out completely ordinary. The dry heat was brutal - the kind that makes you feel like you are digging your own grave. I was in a good mood, working with a team I already knew well, and ready to have a good time. By then, I already knew exactly who to stay away from and who I could easily spend the whole day with.
Lunchtime arrived quickly. We were all licking our lips like starving dogs. Usually, it seemed like we lived solely for fried fatty sausages or fried chicken drumsticks, but this time, it was goulash.
“People!” someone roared halfway through lunch.
Another load of bullshit,I thought. What’s up now? Who spit in whose portion? Who drooled over whose wife?
“Pantyhose!” the voice spread like a storm.
We all flocked to the unfortunate finder. He had fished a pair of pantyhose out of the goulash. They were actually a nice pair, and at first glance, they seemed to be quite well preserved.
“Fuck those motherfuckers!”
"We aren’t dogs to eat whatever trash they stir up!"
“Let them go to hell!”
Meanwhile, I was already imagining the rosy-cheeked chef persistently stirring the goulash in the cauldron. Her breasts were bouncing while her hips swayed. She was wearing only a white crop top. It was hot in the kitchen. The old head chef, a notorious prankster, approached her and squeezed her. He grabbed her breasts, and he stirred too. (I’m surprised the goulash didn’t burn.)
That is how it could have happened, but I didn’t care to explain any of it to these old men. To hell with their lack of imagination.
Either way, it gave me a great excuse to quit after just fifteen days. I blamed it on digestive problems. They should be happy I didn’t sue them.
My grandma would be happy because I would be spending more time at home with her now. She had just been bragging that her pension would be increasing by ten euros anyway. What on earth would the two of us even do with that much money?
4.
Disappointed, I couldn’t bear the thought of any work anymore. Grandma didn’t ask me anything. She was just glad that I made her chamomile tea in the morning.
And then I would go back to sleep. Until noon. Life goes by anyway. And with it, the shitty days. Every morning I was in a blissful cryogenic state. Frozen for half the day until the bullshit passed. I spent the rest of the day doing something different.
I had to lose myself in alcohol, fast. I called my best man.
We weren’t real best men, but Montenegrin ones. We promised to fuck each other’s wives. A best man’s honor. (I almost did it. He didn’t even come close.)
"Teddy!"that’s what I affectionately called him. He was blond, of medium height, a handsome guy, though a little heavy. Long hair and a mustache - a fucking charm that women fell for.
"Where are you, brother?"he replied happily.
"What are you doing?"
"Here I am, messing around with the peppers. I am watering them."
Teddy was a small entrepreneur, an eternal lover of fruits and vegetables. He built several greenhouses and grew peppers and tomatoes in them. All those things with big, juicy fruits that people liked to bite into.
"Do you still have a lot to do?"
"Just let me spray some more pesticides…"
We met at ‘At The Tiger’. A low, dilapidated one-story house that the landlady had turned into a tavern for drunks. And us.
She had two young daughters. An older one and a younger one. Teddy and I could never agree. Although he liked older women – and they were both younger than him – he wanted the younger sister, Nina. And I was supposed to be with Victoria, who was falling for me anyway – or so Teddy consoled me.
It was Saturday and we were slowly sipping Stock brandy. That evening there was a real shortage of local drinkers, and the landlady retired early to the house next door. Victoria was working. A Libra who adored angels. There is no better combination, I assured her.
"When you’re with Teddy, you always booze," she reproached me as if we were married.
"It’s not... it’s because of Teddy," I was evasive.
"I know."
She jumped up from the chair behind the bar and, wiggling her hips, took a brandy to some heavy drinker.
"Will there be any action tonight? Teddy winked at me.
"No..." I pretended to be a nice guy.
"Come on, Zlatan, don’t be silly," he was dying of laughter.
"Same again!" he told Victoria when she returned.
Then the last boozer left. Nina arrived, and my best man’s eyes lit up like a hundred-watt bulb. He immediately persuaded her to sit with us and sip Stock brandy.
Nina was slim and wiry, and he was stronger and heavier, so it was no wonder they were attracted to each other. Or maybe it was one-way. It didn’t matter to Teddy anyway. For him, love was never a matter of mutual agreement, but of conquest. I had a different tactic. When we got close - meaning, we had drunk a bit more - I showed her my dick and if she didn’t get scared, I knew she was mine. At least for that evening. I wasn’t very sophisticated in those days.
Victoria locked the front door because working hours were over. We all retreated to a corner table and kept drinking. Vicky suggested we play cards, so we agreed. The game was a little demanding – and truth be told, we were already drowning in booze– so we quickly switched to a simpler game.
That was where Teddy and I got along great. We didn’t like brain teasers or any mental games that required competition or proving ourselves. Our ultimate highlight was playing basketball on the Amiga.
We didn’t feel like drinking any more Stock, and my best man was too reckless a drinker anyway. He never knew how to sip that shit; when he started, he would just chug it. And I, like a loyal friend, would follow suit. So we switched to beer.
It was also a great excuse for me to follow Vicky behind the bar to grab a bottle. Teddy lay face down in the booth and lifted his shirt. The sly Nina was popping the pimples on his back. I cornered Vicky behind the bar.
"Zlatan..." she gasped, and I grabbed her ass with one hand and under her shirt with the other. Damn, she was as flat as a board! I shivered with unease – I could hardly imagine a woman without breasts – and I was about to stick my tongue in her mouth when the door behind the bar flew open.
It was their mother.
She had dark circles under her eyes as big as coffee cups, her hair was completely disheveled, and her nightgown was stuck in the back of her panties. She was all pissed off.
"What are you two still doing here?"the old dragon snapped.
"Oh, mistress!"Teddy shouted. The old woman had a thing for him, but he couldn’t seem to take the chance to fuck her. He was waiting for the right moment, or so he told me.
This time she didn’t even hear him. Obviously that dwarf she was in a relationship with didn’t satisfy her. She glared at us all and slammed the door behind her. The party was over.
"Vicky has no tits," I complained to Teddy as we stumbled through the night.
"Phew! Nina doesn’t even have an ass. And I miss the landlady..."
5.
I found another job!
Shit… I mean: pure joy. I was supposed to help some guy haul bricks into his yard. His truck is coming tomorrow, Friday. Time to work.
I decided to celebrate and immediately bought a liter of wine using my grandmother’s pension money. All the cash I had earned from digging the trench went toward buying chickens. My grandmother always loved raising poultry, and I loved eating her fried chicken like crazy.
I poured myself some wine, and then I warmed up a glass of mulled wine for my grandmother, mixing it with sugar and cinnamon.
Grandma loved the taste of Christmas. By the time I finished the liter, I felt a deep, heavy warmth.I couldn’t sit still in the house any longer. I covered my grandmother with a blanket while she snored on the couch, and then I ran out to find Teddy.
As I pedaled away on my grandmother’s ancient black bicycle, I wondered how Teddy managed to balance his incredible love for the vitamins and minerals in fruits and vegetables with his heavy drinking. I thought that maybe I was the x-factor screwing up his life and throwing him off the right path. Oh no, no way! I quickly dismissed all that deep-seated nonsense.
Teddy was, of course, hanging out at ‘At The Tiger’. He had already downed who knows how many shots and was staring blankly at Victoria’s non-existent breasts.
"There he is!" I shouted.
"Ho-ho-ho!"Teddy boomed back.
"What are you drinking?"
"The usual garbage."
"Vodka!" I yelled to Vicky.
"What’s this now?"a half-drunk Teddy muttered, shocked by my order.
Vicky slowly approached us. It always bothered me that she would drag her feet like a dying cat whenever I ordered hard liquor. I knew she did it on purpose. She simply hated seeing me drink. She was just so caring. And the fact that she served hectoliters of brandy to hopeless drunks every single day - who gives a fuck about that? The important thing was that she saved one soul.
"You’re not going to get wasted again, are you?" she asked, staring at Teddy while blinking her eyes. He shook his head decisively.
"Gina is performing at ‘Colorado’ tonight," she said as she walked away.
"Gina!"Teddy choked out.
"I don’t like clubs. I don’t like crowds," I grumbled.
Teddy wasn’t listening to me.
"Two vodkas!" he shouted. "Make them doubles!"
We slammed them down. And then another round. Gina’s concert was about to start.
Walking got a bit fucked up after two heavy vodkas on top of who knows what else we had before. The world softened, and my legs completely ignored my brain. I walked stoically toward the exit. I turned around to wave at Vicky. She was looking at me with sad eyes.
Fuck, how am I supposed to take you to a club in this condition?
6.
The club was a total riot. Gina brought two dancers with her who were energetically jumping around on the upper platform, wearing short skirts with absolutely no underwear underneath.The crowd was going wild.
We clapped the old bouncer on the shoulder at the entrance. Mitt worked as an electrician for some company, and in his free time he spent his evenings beating up hyped-up kids at the clubs. Other than that, he was a solid guy - square-jawed, heavily built, but by no means stupid.
We drank whatever we could get our hands on because the waiters were leaping around like manic kangaroos. You couldn’t expect any real service from them.
We warmed up nicely; the night was perfectly well-oiled. Those hallucinogenic disco lights can really screw with your head, assuming other factors haven’t already done the job. And by factors, I mean booze and women.
Teddy wouldn’t be Teddy if he hadn’t gotten his hands on some skinny girl again. The dude even started dancing – a man who had never moved a single foot to a rhythm in his entire life. He obviously liked her a lot to sacrifice his dignity like that. Unfortunately, I warned him about a few things way too late. Honestly, it was only after a few days, once we had finally recovered.
That woman was toxic as hell. I don’t mean physically, but mentally. Divorced, messed up, with a small kid, and angry at the entire world. A real nasty piece of work. She could have blown your head off if you weren’t careful. It didn’t matter which head, either.
She had been with anyone that moved, but just as my best man was putting on his ridiculous, ape-like mating dance around her, she suddenly decided to act like a saint. She claimed she had to go pee, but instead, she went straight to the bouncers to complain that two creeps were harassing her.
Ace - whose name might as well have been short for asshole - grabbed Teddy by the neck and dragged him outside. He was a shorter guy, but fierce as lightning. His specialty was stomping people in cowboy boots. I followed them out, wanting to pull him off Teddy because he was already beating him like crazy. But before I could, I was grabbed from behind by another thug. The Albanian - a rabid, bald young guy who had come all the way from Kosovo just to build a career as a club bouncer. That was his actual nickname: Albanian.
He punched me square in the nose, and it erupted like a shaken champagne bottle. The sight of all that blood scared him, and he left me lying there in the parking lot. As I was drifting off to sleep - a mix of the booze and the beating - I watched from the asphalt as Asshole kept working Teddy over with those nice boots of his. Damn him.
Lying there, it also hit me that I definitely wouldn’t be unloading that truckload of bricks tomorrow. I was screwing that guy over big time. Well, technically not me - but the alcohol and the bouncers certainly did.
7.
I decided to hang out less with Teddy because we kept getting each other into trouble. He was sick for a long time after that beating. The asshole even came to his house and offered him money just so he wouldn’t sue him. When Teddy saw all that money, he just groaned. He probably thought it was a small amount, so the guy left in shame. I recovered very well, despite the headache and vomiting. My nose was perfectly fine. Before I forget, Teddy was the one who finally got us both up from the parking lot that morning. He told me he did it out of shame. Otherwise, he would have continued lying there like me. We both slept for several hours in the dusty parking lot. It wasn’t even paved. And no one even tried to move us, let alone see if everything was okay with us, or call the police. To hell with our youth. For them, solidarity is something that died long ago. And compassion is something that only churchgoing grandmothers believe in.
Teddy dragged me into his dilapidated Fiat van and drove me home. And then, all beaten up and alone, he went home.
If he leaves this world first, I’ll light a candle on his grave just for that. And a giant one at that.
CONTINUED NEXT SATURDAY!
