Hi, I’m Nils. Rhymes with “gills”, for you foreigners. I’m serving as main roadie for the
truthers, which is a difficult life, seein’ as I’m afflicted with a dwarfism most diminutive. This is one of my stories.
We’re standing outside the local watering hole in some strange town in some strange country. We’re at the stage of the tour where no one really pays any attention to that anymore. At least I don’t. I feel our night ain’t going nowhere. Adam and Sam are debating some horribly boring goddamn political farce crap, in this particularly pretensions way they have, and it’s driving me out of my mind.
I see a group of people talking and I decide to mix things up by introducing Conrad to them. I’m a great judge of character and I deem this group to be some sort of local low-life gangsters. Perfectly suitable for some destructive good times. So of course it would be hilarious to introduce the classically trained over-educated socially awkward trumpeter to these guys. I throw him in the mix.
Surprisingly to everyone included, Conrad actually hits it off with one of the girls in the group. They start schmoosing in the corner of the bar we found a couple of blocks down. I can’t explain the level of surprise and disgust I feel right now. Things take a turn though, and the girl’s friends decide we should all go to a party over at a couple of twins’ house. With little debate everyone is heading over there.
Soon after we arrive the party pace increases to my great pleasure and my distinct sense for mischief is triggered. I find Conrad and the cute girl in a secluded part of the house and explain that trumpeters are highly regarded in this part of the world. To my great surprise and pleasure he seems to believe me. As such it would be in order for him to play a tune. Wouldn’t it? We happen to find a trumpet in some sock drawer, or any kind of drawer, really – serendipitous enough for you? – and he starts playing that annoying thing. There’s some enjoyment to it. For some. It turns out.
The locals introduce some organic medicaments and start playing a game of burning pubes and telling secrets to each other. I guess it’s some sort of spin the bottle for people with access to a razor, but without access to a bottle. An ill-smelling but very amusing game. Conrad gets lost in the fog of grass and pubes and trumpet tunes. In this orgy of hemp, intimacy hair and Miles Davis tunes a general sort of euphoria spreads across the drug-den. THIS annoys greatly so I pour a beer into Conrads ugly trumpet and he blows Lempke beer like a goddamn Icelandic geyser. Hilarious! Right at this moment, when Conrad looks at me like he wants to bash that beerstenched trumpet in my head with his tiny arms; at this EXACT point he sees a random, giant nose walk away with the love of his night. Game on!
We run after, Conrad in full speed, screaming ”do you want to live?” in his dry little academic’s voice. His choice of words is ironic, believe me, but that is another story. The big nosed gangster returns with a knife and we book it the other direction. We need somewhere to hide. I find some great bushes. Conrad finds a sandbox designed for wintertimes after a while. Very funny. The long nosed gangster running around shouting ”I’m going to kill you trumpet fucker!” I lie in the bushes laughing into my glorious beard. It’s hilarious. After a while the pursuer gets bored though and I leave my great seat in the bushes. I find Conrad sleeping in the sandbox. I take his phone, program the alarm to a quarter before the bus is due to depart and I leave Conrad with his thoughts inside the box.
Ah, good times!