September 12, 2008 - 4:55 a.m.

I slept badly that night. A stranger gave me 1000 euros, hard to believe, but only in a dream. My mood is lousy. I leave the apartment, dog-tired, with a travel bag and head for Ratingen-Ost train station. Hoping hard that no one will bushwhacks me, or knock me down with a bicycle chain and mug me, as buddies of mine loved to do in the past. But when you talk of the devil…

What’s that? Shortly before my destination, a man comes towards me, swaying and swearing, with every third word being either shit or asshole. A heavily intoxicated guy who then stops silently in front of a parked car. Well, what’s he doing, our grumbler? He spreads most of the contents of his stomach on a beige hood. That’s what you call puking. It looks a lot like Currywurst with chips to me, I know it from the old days. The owner of the car should be grateful, because of that the color of his car has become much more attractive.

I march past that joker. He is interrupting his business, to address me. »Wait a sec, dude!« I stop abruptly and take a closer look at this punk. Basic commodities that would belong in any toilet bag were surely not used in the last 24 days by that guy. The Motörhead imprint on his black tee is already rather battered, all his adornments were surely as old as the rock band. The only thing new was that his third word was not asshole again.

»Hey dude, shit, wait a second!«

  He gives the motor lid an encore. After he finished, he just mumbles

  »Shit!«

  Stupid pukes again!

  »Got some euro for me?«

  »Need a million myself«, he receives as my answer. Too bad, I don’t carry an umbrella with me. I would definitely need one with his moist articulation. Attack being the best defense and thus I quickly ask him a question, before my departure.

  »Which music is your favorite? Speed metal? Trash metal? Hardcore metal?« All those musical styles to be categorized between jackhammer and building detonations. He mumbles something that I can’t understand at first. But then he speaks much more clearly.

»Hey, shall I tell you a secret? The witnesses are just trying to trick us.«

  Who is this guy talking about? Of course, he’s drunk.

  »The book is an invention, a trap. I almost believed it when they tried to convert me.«

  I don’t understand what he’s saying. The man changes the subject.

  »Fellow, listen to me. Namaloa will tell you how to get 1000 euros easily. That’s what you dream of!«

  I’m not comfortable with the situation–get out of here quickly!

  »Who doesn’t dream of it? Who wouldn’t want a thousand euros?«, I answer and reply hastily and hurry on at a brisk pace. I stop after fifty meters because it has become quiet. There’s nothing more to hear from this guy. I turn around–he’s nowhere to be seen either. Was that a ghost? I quickly continue my walk to the station–I’m slightly confused.

  Namaloa? Or Nama Loa? Who is that again? It can only be a coincidence that I dreamt of 1000 euros that night. I continue my trails to the station. What comes to mind about the drunk: Ain’t walking, talking and thinking what distinguishes us humans from animals?