little bit of makeup, some books and textbooks, even an old doll. All he had to do was collect the bed linen. “It might come in useful. We’ll stay at Wolanski’s place for a while, but afterwards I’ll have to rent somewhere.
Damn, I almost forgot about the kitchen and the bathroom. Glasses, plates, spoons, forks, knives… God, what a drag it is gathering it all up now and making sure nothing breaks.”
Isaac lived an impoverished life, so he collected up absolutely everything he could. He only left the furniture since it wouldn’t have survived another move anyway, and Wolanski would have flipped at the sight of this old lumber.
He hardly had any personal things at all: jeans and t-shirts, one suit from his graduation at the university and his computer which all fit into two boxes. He also has a vintage poster of Einstein with his famous phrase: “Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the
impossible”.
That aphorism was very apropos and highly relevant. Isaac hated Einsteiner, but that
antipathy had nothing with the famous scientist. Isaac took the poster down carefully, rolled it into a tube and took it with him. Bikie had a similar modest collection, apart from the fact that instead of a scooter, he had a genuine Harley and a guitar.
“That Bikie-guy is a true rock’n’roller,” thought Isaac.
Wolanski met them at the gate, and he had everything ready for dinner by the pool again: drinks, hors d’oeuvres, beer. Sandrine was relaxing on a soft, white sun-lounger. She waved them hello and carried on relishing the beautiful sunset over the sea while sipping on some kind of juice. Bikie and Isaac each took a beer.
“This is some life!” exclaimed Bikie, either making a toast or just thinking out loud.
They drained their bottles in one, picked up their things and headed for the main entrance.
Peter gestured them to stop and asked to go in through the side door.
“Guys, we agreed that you live in the guest section of the house, didn’t we? No hard
feelings?”
“Whatever you say, buddy, no problem,” Bikie said amicably. “Don’t think we’ll have
any use for your oval fireplace and swimming pool anyway. We won’t have time for long soulful evenings and swimming… But the loungers… Can we bring chicks in?”
“Bikie!” exclaimed Sandrine, already there beside him. “Do not bring chicks into the
house!”
“I like you, guys. I really hope I haven’t made a mistake by inviting you to take care of the house. You settle into your rooms and I’ll wait for you here.”
The first thing Bikie did in his room was take his guitar out of its case and check that nothing had happened to it in transit. The guitar was all right.
“What is this?” Isaac asked.
“A relic.”
“Meaning?”
“I bought it on the internet. Keith Richards himself played it. He even signed the body. I forked out a grand for it. A rare item.”
Isaac looked at the half-erased scribble.
“Are you sure this really is his autograph?”
“Positive, I saw a photo of him with this guitar.”
“I see. Ever heard the word ‘Photoshop’?”
“Screw you,” Bikie growled.
“Just kidding. Surely it’s original.”
“Sure as death. In our crowd they don’t pull tricks like that.”
He then hit the strings so hard that almost made Isaac jump.
Isaac went to his room, set his things by the bed, carefully hung up the poster and
switched on his laptop.
“What’s the Wi-Fi password?” he shouted out of the window.
“Alchemist28015,” Peter answered.
“Your rating, right?” Isaac asked loudly.
“U-huh.”
“Mine’s bigger,” Bikie put in.
“And mine’s longer”, retorted Peter.
“You boys are gross,” Sandrine said and everyone laughed.
When Isaac and Bikie sat down by the pool, the sun was already setting and the sky was
scintillating with the most brilliant tones in the orange spectrum.
“Look, orange energy’s draining away…” The setting had put Bikie in a poetical
Damn, I almost forgot about the kitchen and the bathroom. Glasses, plates, spoons, forks, knives… God, what a drag it is gathering it all up now and making sure nothing breaks.”
Isaac lived an impoverished life, so he collected up absolutely everything he could. He only left the furniture since it wouldn’t have survived another move anyway, and Wolanski would have flipped at the sight of this old lumber.
He hardly had any personal things at all: jeans and t-shirts, one suit from his graduation at the university and his computer which all fit into two boxes. He also has a vintage poster of Einstein with his famous phrase: “Only those who attempt the absurd can achieve the
impossible”.
That aphorism was very apropos and highly relevant. Isaac hated Einsteiner, but that
antipathy had nothing with the famous scientist. Isaac took the poster down carefully, rolled it into a tube and took it with him. Bikie had a similar modest collection, apart from the fact that instead of a scooter, he had a genuine Harley and a guitar.
“That Bikie-guy is a true rock’n’roller,” thought Isaac.
Wolanski met them at the gate, and he had everything ready for dinner by the pool again: drinks, hors d’oeuvres, beer. Sandrine was relaxing on a soft, white sun-lounger. She waved them hello and carried on relishing the beautiful sunset over the sea while sipping on some kind of juice. Bikie and Isaac each took a beer.
“This is some life!” exclaimed Bikie, either making a toast or just thinking out loud.
They drained their bottles in one, picked up their things and headed for the main entrance.
Peter gestured them to stop and asked to go in through the side door.
“Guys, we agreed that you live in the guest section of the house, didn’t we? No hard
feelings?”
“Whatever you say, buddy, no problem,” Bikie said amicably. “Don’t think we’ll have
any use for your oval fireplace and swimming pool anyway. We won’t have time for long soulful evenings and swimming… But the loungers… Can we bring chicks in?”
“Bikie!” exclaimed Sandrine, already there beside him. “Do not bring chicks into the
house!”
“I like you, guys. I really hope I haven’t made a mistake by inviting you to take care of the house. You settle into your rooms and I’ll wait for you here.”
The first thing Bikie did in his room was take his guitar out of its case and check that nothing had happened to it in transit. The guitar was all right.
“What is this?” Isaac asked.
“A relic.”
“Meaning?”
“I bought it on the internet. Keith Richards himself played it. He even signed the body. I forked out a grand for it. A rare item.”
Isaac looked at the half-erased scribble.
“Are you sure this really is his autograph?”
“Positive, I saw a photo of him with this guitar.”
“I see. Ever heard the word ‘Photoshop’?”
“Screw you,” Bikie growled.
“Just kidding. Surely it’s original.”
“Sure as death. In our crowd they don’t pull tricks like that.”
He then hit the strings so hard that almost made Isaac jump.
Isaac went to his room, set his things by the bed, carefully hung up the poster and
switched on his laptop.
“What’s the Wi-Fi password?” he shouted out of the window.
“Alchemist28015,” Peter answered.
“Your rating, right?” Isaac asked loudly.
“U-huh.”
“Mine’s bigger,” Bikie put in.
“And mine’s longer”, retorted Peter.
“You boys are gross,” Sandrine said and everyone laughed.
When Isaac and Bikie sat down by the pool, the sun was already setting and the sky was
scintillating with the most brilliant tones in the orange spectrum.
“Look, orange energy’s draining away…” The setting had put Bikie in a poetical
Similar Books
