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Buying coke Garmisch-Partenkirchen

This episode is a continuation of part I. He whipped his head towards the luggage rack. His stomach dropped and his head was spinning. It was gone. The train was empty and its door were wide open. He must have started an international incident, and the police and Interpol and the UN or whatever had sent in this small woman with an innocent face to lure him out to the platform where they were all waiting for him. He thought about running, but how far could he get with the army of international police waiting for him. Besides, running would most certainly signal guilt. He went to Amsterdam on vacation. The blue vest must have seen how confused he was because she went into an explanation. She must have also figured there was something wrong with him because she spoke slowly and supplemented each word with a pantomime, which was actually helpful but made the situation even stranger and more confusing. She said his backpack rucksack was in the office buro and the train zug was stopped for maintenance and another zug was coming soon to take him to Munich. She pointed at the door, and when he looked on the platform, it was also empty. The buro was really just a booth, manned by a male blue vest, who was clearly chosen for the position based on his ability to fit behind the tiny desk. He nodded at the rucksack leaning against the wall. Alright, act normal, just for a bit until you could get out of the buro. He picked up the unbearably heavy rucksack and put it on his back, teetering a bit. Robert willed himself to walk naturally, but instead of walking naturally, he started walking like a broken robot. The attendant broke out into laughter, which was such a promising sound that Robert finally took a deep breath and exhaled. Robert got on the next zug and soon he was back in Munich. Waiting for his train to Garmisch, with his rucksack next to him, it felt like he was returning home from a long war and he was already finding that the world had changed. Of course, he had smoked a lot of hash in the last 24 hours, and now there was a thick fog around reality, which muffled the various platform sounds and helped him meander around his hazy musings. He had just relaxed a bit when the German Shepherds came through the station. These were the same ones that he saw at Englischer Garten with their handlers. There were three dogs on long leashes held by three cops. Each cop and dog took a section of the station. It came up to his bag and sniffed. Robert practiced the reason he had drugs in his bag. But the excuse was running thin, even in his own mind. Sweat poured out all over his body, soaking his clothes, from the neck of his t-shirt to the toes of his socks. He looked away from the dog in case it can see the desperation and fear in his eyes. The train was coming. So close. Just moments away. He braced himself and turned his head back to his bag, expecting to see all three shepherds baring their teeth and all three policemen standing with their guns drawn, one of them holding the hash. But the dog had led the cop down the platform and Robert was already forgotten. The train came to a stop and the doors opened. He slowly stood up and boarded the train put his rucksack on the rack. He barely made it to the bathroom before he broke out into a sob. His shoulders shook out every tear he had been saving for three years. He just wanted it to be over. Crying apparently was a good way to make the time go by because before he was done, a blue vest was knocking on the door to let him know they were arriving in Garmisch. Robert put on the rucksack and walked out into the crisp, autumn, mountain air and took a deep breath. He had done it. He had gotten away with it. He had made it home. This could be the end of the story, a somewhat happy story where he learns a life lesson and averts any real catastrophe. When he pulled out the ball of hash and apprised to the Lizard Boys the adventures he had seen, Robert became the envy of the house and its resident hero. Robert devised a plan to make it last longer - a lot of Englischer Garten pot and just the tiniest bit of Amsterdam hash, roll a joint, enjoy. They enjoyed alright — day and night. Robert says the Lizard Boys invented the phrase wake and bake. The coconut turned into a peach and then a kiwi and then a pomegranate and then a house meeting. It was a shame that the first ball of hash was so good because it seemed worth it for Robert to go back to Amsterdam, especially for everyone else. See, Robert was learning to look ahead. He had also learned a thing or two from his first trip. No rucksack. He was going with a small school backpack, which he can lay at his feet on the train. He bought all of his train tickets round-trip so he could be prepared and stick to the plan. He also bought two books from the PX for the train ride. He noticed reading passengers looked innocent and were largely ignored by everyone, including the blue vests. And this time, no smoking hash. The trip to get the drugs was relaxing. He was just another traveler on the train, sleeping in the dark car at night and in the morning, eating bee sting cake while watching Germany turn into the Netherlands through the window. Before he knew it, he was in the familiar Amsterdam station. He saw a man his age with a buzz cut and an Army-issue rucksack getting off the train and straight to a pot cafe. Any of the Lizard Boys could do this. He thought about turning around and just going home, remembering the terror of the German Shepherd incident in Munich, and he really might have, but he had purchased his train tickets ahead of time, which meant he had to stay at least one night. Amsterdam was much colder than Garmisch and the sky was gray — a great day to hang out in a heated hotel. To his shock, Catch was hilariously anti-war and anti-US military. He thought the PX would censor such books, but on second thought, nobody cared about books, not there anyway. He spent the whole day reading in his room and when he finished the book, he fell asleep. He slept for 12 hours. Robert nodded at him, and he came over with a menu, as if they had never met. The waiter shrugged but kept standing there. Got it. Robert pulled out a 25 guilder note and slid it toward him. That actually made sense. The waiter pointed to the back office and Robert let himself in. A boy, maybe 13, was sitting in the office, his legs shaking furiously. He jumped when Robert walked in and almost knocked over the two coconuts of hash on the desk. When Robert approached the desk to grab the coconuts, the boy pulled out a knife and made the international signal for money, rubbing his fingers together. Yet another easy chance to walk away. He did the same with the other bundle and backed away from the boy who put the knife back in his pocket. Going back there was out of the question. He was relieved to find he had enough money left for new train tickets AND dinner. Robert got on the train bound for Munich, with a sense of security and safety. He pulled out the second PX book Slaughterhouse Five and cracked the spine — yet another anti-war book, this time set in Germany. It was so short that he finished it before dinner. He was so affected by it that he read it again after dinner. The book gave him a sense of place, of a perspective. He had been living in the epicenter of a world war, two world wars, a country still split in two, but he had only thought about smuggling and smoking drugs. He was the worst kind of American abroad. He closed his eyes and thought of Dresden and wondered how a city rebounded from being bombed by the good guys. And somewhere around Frankfurt, he fell asleep, wanting more from his experience in Germany. He awoke to announcements, which were filled with words never uttered in the back of a schnitzel restaurant. The few passengers on the train looked as confused as he did. Robert had heard so much about German punctuality, but the train from Amsterdam was always stopping somewhere besides Munich. The older man took pity on Robert and gave him a free ride to the Munich station. Robert was stranded with nothing in his pocket, but at least he was in Munich. He found his way to Englischer Garten, just to be somewhere familiar, and there on the grass, he identified his first drug dealer. A young black man was seemingly minding his own business smoking a cigarette next to a bench when an older white man approached him with money. They shook hands, and Robert saw the little bag of pot switching places with the cash. That was it. All he had to do was sell a little bit of the hash to the drug dealer. Robert walked up to the drug dealer, flashed a plum of hash and backed off to the next bench. The drug dealer studied the wad of cash he pulled from his pocket and finally pulled off a few bills, showing it to Robert — five 20 Deutsche Mark bills, fanned out. They both nodded. Robert approached him and handed him the plum. The drug dealer and Robert simultaneous started running. It was a race against each other more than the cop. They were evenly matched, running side by side, where? Just run. From the volume of halts coming from the Polizei, they were making ground. Then, the drug dealer pushed Robert to the side on to the grass. The fall ripped the arm of his shirt and skinned him. The dog was baring his teeth as he passed by Robert, the victim, and lunged at the drug dealer. He ran up the stairs and down the corridor and into a bathroom, locking himself inside a stall. Once his heart slowed down, he realized he almost had the money in his hand. He should have just grabbed it, then he could be on his way to Garmisch in a taxi. And he would never do this again. But as it were, he had to go back and find another drug dealer and then sell drugs to the drug dealer. This time, of course, he would look around for the Polizei. But first, he needed to sit on the toilet, stop shaking and summon the courage to leave the bathroom of what turned out to be the University of Munich. Sure enough, there was a black man standing against a bench, smoking a cigarette. Just one more time, Robert thought. Just one more time. He looked all around for the police, then he pulled out a plum and flashed it at the man, who walked toward him. The man blew on a whistle, summoning two more policemen. Even without dogs, it was a terrifying sight. How can you tell the difference between a drug dealer and a policeman? The charges for Robert Lightfeather included possession of illegal substances and distribution of illegal substances. He was caught with a little over a grams of low-grade hash. Ripped off by a 13 year old in Amsterdam. It was a good thing in this case since it delegitimized him as a serious drug dealer. Still, he was booked and sent to Stadelheim, a prison that once housed Adolph Hitler and then later executed over a people for him. Robert was given a room of his own. It was dingy and dark and wreaked of a thousand deaths, but there was a bed and a chair and all he really wanted was to rest. You have to get a lawyer, one that speaks great German, and that person will get you a court date and defend you against the charges. Until that happens, you live here. When the door is unlocked, you are free to come and go from this room, meal times are posted on the walls and served in the cafeteria. Where is the cafeteria? Follow the other inmates during meal times. Oh, and the librarian wanted me to tell you that there are a few boxes of English books you can have. Yes, haha. Stadelheim was more like a dilapidated 19th century spa than a modern prison. His only company was an endless supply of English books, which he devoured. Once he read a book, he could recite paragraphs from it. The trauma of getting caught and put behind bars had changed him, but it was the millions of words he was consuming that was growing him into a human being. Then, one day, Hans came in and announced that Robert was moving to another cell. Max, his new cellmate, was a short man with giant muscles who was fascinated by all things American, especially cars. He had heard there was an American at Stadelheim and requested him as a cellmate. Robert finally called Wes. Oh, man. I thought you were dead. How do we get you out of there? Can you bring me some stuff from the PX? Anything American with American cars on it. Oh, and American cigarettes. Wes looked nervous when he entered the visiting area. Before Stadelheim, they were both white 19 year-olds from the Midwest in a self-destructive spiral, but now Wes looked like a mammal from a different species, a familiar species but different nonetheless. Wes visited most weeks and brought Robert Hot Rod magazines and Marlboro cigarettes, which he handed straight over to Max. It was nice to see Max light up with things so common, things so easy to acquire. In exchange, Max left him alone to read. Robert worked his way through boxes labeled Englisch. Hans visited often to ask if Robert needed help with a lawyer, reminding him that without one, he could stay there forever. Yes, Robert was aware. The four months he had already done was easy, even with Max wanting English lessons every night. Sure, once in a while, he got a panic attack and had to breathe into a paper bag, but considering the circumstances, that seemed pretty normal. Nothing at the prison was worse than his family finding out. There was no way to explain the sequence of decisions he made to end up in prison, and Stadelheim itself was impossible to describe without sounding like he was locked up in a fairy tale. No, he would much rather live out the rest of his life in prison. Wes could tell Sarah that Robert wanted to travel around Europe and just took off by himself. She would be relieved, they all would. Hans came by on a Saturday and informed Robert that his visa sponsor, Sarah Watkins, had be contacted. And you know what they say about people who defend themselves. The visiting room was packed with the weekend crowd, but Robert saw them right away. He looked serious and angry and scowled at the people around him — criminals and their visitors, the worst of the lot. Call the brig? She gave him a hug the way a cancer patient would — softly and profoundly. Robert had seen his mother in all stages of a relationship, and she was in the depression stage, which came right before rage, and the rage marked the end. Hans was right. Once Frank got the lawyer, it only took a couple of days before they were in court. Neither the judge nor the lawyer spoke to Robert directly. The lawyer argued that American teenagers had a culture of consuming marijuana, day and night, and Robert particularly had been smoking since he was The hash in his backpack was for his own personal use. They never lasted more than a few hours. He was glad nobody was asking him questions. How could he justify such stupidity, in any language. But the lawyer had a good answer. He had damaged his young brain. The lawyer pointed at Robert, offering his physical appearance as evidence. The judge nodded. Robert also nodded. The judge looked bored while he scribbled something and dismissed the case. It was all over. Robert had been successfully kicked out of Stadelheim. Predictably, Frank ran his house like an Army unit — everyone up at 5am, make your bed, eat breakfast, then jumping jacks, counted out by Frank himself. The first couple of days, Robert waited for Frank and Sarah to leave the house before going back to sleep, but Frank started demanding a daily report of what he was doing. Frank was all about rules, making lists and setting goals. Sarah had brought around a few father figures but none of this type. He brought Robert into the admissions office at the American college and introduced him to everyone. One of the admissions officers told Robert that Frank had helped dozens of young men enroll in college after the military. He even set up a job interview for Robert as a waiter in a steakhouse on base. For the first time in his life, he wanted to do well, to make Frank proud. To his great surprise, Robert liked waking up early, hell, to have any schedule. Even with a near full-time job, college came easy - school always had. And being a student turned out to be a blank pass. He was a young man paying his way through college, which was a rare category on base but one that got respect from the older set, like Frank. Overnight, he had transformed from useless waste of air to a hard-working young man. Frank bought him all his books and nominated him for scholarships. They were small - couple of hundred dollars here and there - but there were so many that he had enough to save some. The older officers that came in for steaks looked at him like they wanted him to be their son. But at home, things were deteriorating. Frank and Sarah were in their last days - Robert could feel it in his bones, like the coming of rain. He only went home to sleep and shower, but even then, he heard enough fights to know their complaints. Robert was brought up a lot, as he usually was in the last days of relationships. You left your kids. Look at your boy. If you think you can handle him, you take him. Maybe I should get the credit for being a parent. One day, when Robert came back from the library, it was over. There were broken dishes on the floor and a broken lamp too. His mother was stuffing things in a box. Robert chuckled out loud. Why did she always throw dishes in the last fight? Robert kept picking up dish shards. But turns out, Frank was the same as the others. Robert was just an appendage of Sarah, and when Sarah went away, so did Robert. Frank had picked up the rest of the carnage and his mother was gone. He roamed the cobbled streets of Garmisch-Partenkirchen until he ended up on Mueller Strasse, then halfway down the street to the rundown birdhouse on the right. He walked into a standing ovation by the Lizard Boys. Wes handed him a joint made with Englischer Garten pot. Robert took a long drag, sat down on the couch and opened his physics book. He had midterms the next day. We met in the back office, remember? How much do you need? I can call somebody. The waiter looked at him for a minute with a smirk and then nodded. Oh, and leave a deposit, guilders. Just to guarantee your return, sir. The next day, a round man with round framed glasses named Hans came into his cell. Robert offered his hand. Frank shook it, then embraced him, patting him on the back. Instagram Twitter. Last Name.

An American in Munich, Part 2

Buying coke Garmisch-Partenkirchen

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Buying coke Garmisch-Partenkirchen