Free Tomorrow Berlin by Oscar Coop-Phane Page B

won!
    The joy of all those tumbling coins! And in a week, his dole!
    He’s got enough to make it. He’s happy. He leaves.

VIII
    Armand has been for a walk in his new district. He’s even bought a bike. It’s 6 p.m. And he’s on his way back to the apartment. He’s happy, he’s beginning to take control of his life here.
    In the living room, Tobias is smoking a bubble pipe and tapping away on Otto’s computer.
    ‘Want some juice, Loulou?’
    Armand nods; he won’t refuse any experience; he’s in a state of discovery.
     
    Ten minutes go by. Armand has a sensation of self-awareness that is both simple and confused. Not like a sudden slap in the face, more of a hazy feeling of happiness; a synthetic calm. Relaxing with the same simplicity as when you dance. You breathe lightly. The first times you take it you don’t have a powerful high. You feel happy without really knowing why. You don’t get the too-violent effect of other narcotics. Before you abuse it, it’s a subtle background state. You feel happy, talkative, and come to think of it, like you could fuck well, too.
    The two of them chat, Tobias rolling his cigarettes, Armand taking bigger and bigger drags on the hookah, which looks like a holiday souvenir. What’s he come here to do? Paint. Yes, that’s what we need, painters. Above all, to live. What about girls? What sort do you like? Tall and blonde, a bit pale, ethereal. He likes it when they look lost in male company. Tobias knows some like that; he’ll introduce him. Even better, they’re not a pain in the arse like French girls.
    Shall we do a bit more? Yeah, it’s been an hour.It could be ten minutes or two hours; you lose track. It’s nice not worrying.
    ‘There’s bound to be a bit of speed in Otto’s room. I’ll go and look, we’re pretty wrecked. A little bit will do. That’s fine. No, don’t use your money, that’s disgusting. There are straws in the cupboard. Yes, cut it. Ah, that’s better, this’ll buck us up. Oh shit, the juice. I’m going to take some vitamins. They’re better than Coke. They also take the taste away and you get the benefit of the calcium and magnesium. That’s important. When you get high, you need to know how to keep in shape. I’ll give you some cream for your hands. That’s important too. Speeds dries your hands out. Here, have some vitamins. How much do you want? 1? 1.2? Yeah, one’s enough. Here. I’m going to take a bit more. 1.1 should do it. It’s not too much and you feel it more. I’ve been taking it for four years and I’ve never had a problem. Well yeah, I have, but that’s from something else. What’ll we do next? Let’s go and see Chrissi; she has good speed. You got a bit of dough? We’ll see, but we only need two grams. Ten euros each. We’ll be sorted for the whole weekend. Chrissi’s cool. She might give us a bit of free ketamine. She’s fifty-five. She’s a drug therapist. She looked after me, you know, when I wasn’t well. I slept at her placeand cooked for her. Risotto, soup – gloopy stuff like that. She likes that.’
     
    Chrissi has a little ground-floor apartment. The big window looking on to the street is hidden behind curtains. The old druggie girls hide themselves away here. They know they can gossip without being spied on. It’s a little world of recluses. They get high together, here or somewhere else, though they don’t really like each other. There’s not much laughter, the only thing being shared is drugs. It’s a little community of loners, all of them seeking their own mind-numbing pleasure. Would they still be friends, if they had no drugs to share? But they do share, and you might mistake it for a real community.
    There’s sheeting on the floor in the living room. A few books, very few. Like in the homes of people who read out of boredom. There’s also a desk; some scattered papers – that’s the way of it – and a computer pumping out music. There’s a guy sitting at it. He doesn’t speak,