Ina

Austostop. I’m leaving for Holland. Karla is waiting for me. A friend or, perhaps, something more.

I reach out with my thumb, as long as they take me north, it’s okay. The truck passes me within two centimeters of my backpack and blows all its trumpets. I have always considered truck drivers imbeciles, this then must be the father. So maybe it stops… no, the BMW goes too, damn it.

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