No one actually understands what happens in the world. Lou had told you that. He said it made him feel sad.
Your picture on the magazine cover. Creem in red balloon letters.
— What’s that?
Music, you said.
A. stayed for the whole concert, passed around by your friends.
Like he needed almost no sleep.
Vomit that forms flakes on your dress. The taste of it in your teeth. You rinse your mouth with schnapps and pat your face dry. The weight guides you down into the stillness, silence, and calm…
Somewhere the radio plays. Zarah Leander singing Ich Sag’ Nicht Ja - Ich Sag’ Nicht Nein! Mutti is knitting. Papi is away in the vastness of the Steppe. Centuries of victories lie in wait for him.
And later the fires and the heat and the light. The roar of the planes and bombs and explosions. The kick and impact. Screaming storms of brick and glass. Levels of sound and noise she would have never thought possible. Shadow shapes of men torn from their stations and pitched headlong into the raw blackening night, and Mutti herself, swung around and emptied of breath. Bundled by neighbours into the foul dark of the cellar.