Arnold
Knock, knock.
“Come in!” The sound of the door pulls me out of my thoughts. I’ve been holed up in the office of my bar for a few days, but since I returned, I can’t stand when people ask me how it went in Canada; it just puts me in a bad mood. I take a few more puffs of my cigarette before extinguishing it in the ashtray, which is full of butts.
When I see who it is that enters, the anger comes rushing back. I clench my fists and turn my chair away to avoid looking at him. My desire to kill him is still very strong.
He approaches me and turns me around. I don’t say anything. He looks at me with an arched eyebrow, eager to challenge me.
“Is it that bad?” he asks, pointing a finger at the full ashtray. I still don’t respond. I want him to get that he’s not welcome here.
“Tsch, t
