Rapid Guilt

I used an old black and green desk chair I haven't had since summer last year to skate around in the streets, or mostly the pavement of this city, probably supposed to be my own, but a bit more consequential (metropolitan and pretentious, if you will). I knelt on the seat and had always at least one hand on the back, because that was really necessary, as rapid and wild as this thing was.

It was fast and nearly uncrontrollable, but that was why I used it. It was cool and exciting.

It was also my job to cook some sort of snack, or I was asked to, or I wanted to, or all of the above. I botched up something with chocolate that I put into a box of something else... not important, I was just a little guilty for messing it up, because it was supposed to be for a friend.

He chanced a look at me and my bad snack. I also soaked a few old slices of white bread in a sweet mix of egg ,milk and flour, to roast or bake with raisins or something, but looking at the pans on the stove and the grill plate (the ones we have at work - this was my restaurant kitchen) I knew or feared that it wouldn't work.

I had to turn away anyway and take care of something.

You, Matt, were sitting with a friend or acquaintance of yours at a crossing I have in my neighbourhood. One of the low houses there seemed to be yours. Both of you sat on stools at a small high round table like the ones they have in front of chipper vans and coffee stalls, in front of your front yard on the pavement.

It was dark, either early morning or late evening or whatever. It was nightly dark. (but streetlamp-lit, of course)

I came out of your low front yard gate with some card in my hand, like a greeting card. I placed it on the table where some similar things were already stacked and standing, and turned away from you to the traffic light, ashamed of something (being there in person for you and your friend to see?) and guilty for not acknowledging you.

You acknowledged me and the card, and mentioned me to your friend. I was sorry as I stood there waiting for the lights to turn green for me.

Then I came out of some building onto a dark early morning street (or was it evening? Who the bloody hell cares) that was lined with parked cars, those in turn framed again by a typically German patchwork of appartment buildings. The concrete and pavement glinted wetly.

I looked to a street corner where I'd left my chair.

There was a young man in half a suit (jacket wasn't on), who looked around and lifted my chair, apparently to take it with him.

He appeared to be saying something to himself along the lines of "If no one's there..." with a shrug in his voice.

And he proceeded to carry my chair towards the opened trunk of a car.

I hurried to him, calling: "Heh, that's my chair. Oi! That's MY chair!"

He acknowledged me the second time I called but didn't put the chair down.

He put it into his trunk and somehow made me understand that since it had been on the pavement by itself it was free for the taking, tough luck for me. But I happened to know the law.

He shut his car and left it standing there, and put on his jacket and began to walk across the street and over a bridge rather briskly, and I followed him closely, and kept next to him as best I could.

I said "Are you a lawyer or something?"

He said with some kind of pride: "Well yes, I happen to be" writing a book something blah di blah.

I said: "Well, for a lawyer you don't know the law very well. That's still my chair."

The sky lightened a bit.

And I was woken up.