SmokeLong Quarterly

You should not look at me like this. I cannot stand it. I know that I have red eyes and my roots are showing.

You know what I saw near the Winterfeldplatz? A blue dog. His head was original grey-dog-color and his roots were showing, too. I bet he has a blue tongue, from licking.

I do not know why I tell you this, no, and licking was not the place we ever wanted to go again—I cannot remember you ever doing a great job. Job? It is fine, yes. I have a fine job. All the folks very nice, an office job. I file information about the parks and playgrounds; it’s just that the authorities know what we have and what state it is in, and by the time I am done, another tree has died or something is broken down, so it never ends. Make ends meet, why do they say that? Who is meeting whom? By the way, why don’t you have more meetings in Berlin? You used to come more often—haha punch intended.

This is understandable, you moved up, no need to travel yourself. Well, good for you; I hope you got rid of that crazy boss you used to talk about. Ha? That was not you? Sure it was you, or perhaps that was one of your juniors, who is now coming to visit the big city.

Don’t get me wrong, it was nice that you called and came by, but now I have to send you back into the shark tank—this girl has to work.

Close the door; kill the monkey.

Where is this stupid cellphone. Nancy? Guess who was here tonight? Yes, touristic conference. No, not him. Yes, him. You know what? I think I still love him. Cannot stand him though. Arrogant prick. But love him. Has this little bald spot now. Yes I cry. Okay, till then, bring the beer.