2025-07-12, 11:45 AM
With a spectacular crash, my racing car cleanly rammed its toughest competitor out of the race and glided across the finish line as the winner with such style that it was almost enough to make you fall to your knees.
“My God!” Wasilij threw the controller halfway across the room, pissed off, as soon as the game told him that I, cool guy, had won and he, poor bastard, had clearly lost.
Actually, it wouldn't have been so dramatic if he threw the controller around, assuming it actually belonged to him. Unfortunately, the controller didn't belong to him and officially belonged to the game store where we spent our evenings.
There were tons of free hours of gameplay, the latest gaming devices to test out, and no game we hadn't already played through.
Was it pathetic to be a 16-year-old boy who lived only for football and pixel worlds? Maybe, but there were certainly worse things.
"Hey!" came the obligatory scolding from the boss behind the cash register. "Please handle our items with care, young man!"
Vasilij nodded with great understanding, but I immediately knew he'd be throwing something around again in ten minutes. My God, the guy was already almost 6 feet tall at 16 and had such a nasty Russian accent that he was the kind of guy whose passport and residence permit would be checked by the police without a second thought .
Jonas didn't like the fact that the tall Russian from the special needs class had been hanging around with us so much since the beginning of this summer, but Angel Jonas didn't like the idea of feeding the ducks either. The ducks could choke on the oversized pieces of bread and became so dependent on the feeding that they completely lost track of how to find food in the water itself.
Absolute nonsense, I thought. Sad truth, Jonas thought, and it didn't matter at all, was Vasilij's opinion. Although he admitted that he actually liked ducks. Actually, he even liked Jonas, which was pretty weird, because Jonas pretty much hated him.
“Can we finally go?”
Of course, it was Jonas, who was whining and shifting from one foot to the other. Jonas was the smallest guy in our class and was supposed to be in his bed by eight o'clock.
"Wait a minute!" I hissed. "One more round, okay?"
"You just said that! Vicky, the bus leaves in ten minutes!"
Vasilij snorted, which he always did when Jonas called me Vicky .
"Pussy," the Russian growled and simply pressed restart . "Dude, are we going to continue or what?"
I nodded and ignored Jonas's whining. Jonas actually annoyed me, but since his mother was my mother's best friend and both women were divorced, we saw each other practically every day.
At school, after school and then on the weekends, because our mothers always had to do something together.
I think Jonas liked me quite a bit, although not quite as much as his stupid ducks.
We continued playing for almost another hour, the bus had long since left without us and Jonas was almost crying because he was now way too late getting home.
"Today is Friday, Viktor!" he spat. Honestly, the guy was 16 and sometimes sounded like a tearful toddler. "I have to be home before nine on Fridays!"
I nodded, pushed the controller, which was quite warm from my hands, back into its holder, and grabbed my school bag. "All right, Jonas baby. Relax. We'll just say I persuaded you to stay late."
"You did! My mother said she'd have to tell your mother that you..."
“Pussy,” said Vasilij again and patted Jonas hard on the back.
Vasilij never had to be home at any time of day. His home had to be a truly relaxed place, because he was allowed to wander around all night without anyone caring.
Jonas, who always followed his dear wife Mama's opinion on such matters, considered it a bad sign. According to Mama Jonas, it was only a matter of time before Vasilij forced us to steal some vodka and go to a brothel.
Complete nonsense, in my opinion. Vasily drank quite a lot, but he'd never forced us to do anything. Once, after school, he handed me a bottle of strong-smelling liquid, but after I said, "No, thank you," he just nodded and said it was better that way. The stuff tasted like horse piss.
Under the skeptical gaze of the boss behind the cash register, we dutifully trudged to the information desk, where I had to hand over my gym bag each time. School bags were okay, but anything larger had to be left directly at the entrance to the game shop.
Vasilij even had to hand over his school bag and empty his pockets on the way out. Every time. Even though he'd been coming and going for months, the shop attendants still had the feeling he'd take advantage of the situation and steal anything that wasn't nailed down.
"Actually, it's against the law," I said seriously, barely out on the street and on our way to the bus stop. "They're only allowed to force you to empty your pockets if there's serious suspicion."
I was doing Ms. Fricke's legal studies for the first time in my life, and I wanted to show off a little. Just for the sake of my neglected ego.
Vasilij just shrugged indifferently, and Jonas looked at me with his accusatory , 'Man, are you blind?! This strange Russian is a complete suspect!' look.
I think Vasilij always noticed Jonas's snarky look pretty clearly, but he never said anything. Even though he could crush that stupid smartass with just one hand, he never let it show.
“I have to turn here today,” Vasily said suddenly, causing general confusion because the road didn’t have a damn turn.
"Do it," Jonas simply said, pretending he wasn't a sneaky mama's boy at all, but a good guy who didn't want to get in his friend's way. "See you tomorrow?"
Vasilij nodded, patted each of us on the back goodbye, and simply crossed the street without even looking in either direction. Sure, the street toward the center wasn't exactly Berlin's Straße des 17. Juni , teeming with cars and asphalt, but still. It took a lot of courage to just trudge across the street.
"He's crazy!" Jonas hissed in his nasty, slanderous voice. "Honestly, Viktor. Ever since we started hanging out with him, it's been nothing but trouble..."
"And that would be...?" I asked, annoyed, and briefly followed Vasilij. He was walking leisurely on the other side of the street and seemed to be in no hurry.
Jonas remained utterly silent. Of course. The pisser was great at blaming and accusing, but he always lacked evidence.
"You'll see!" he finally hissed, barely having reached the bus stop. "At some point he'll put a gun to your head and demand that you steal a car or something..."
I laughed. I laughed so loudly that a grandma in a purple tracksuit gave me a quick, disapproving look. My God, if I were 150 years old, I hope I wouldn't be so shriveled and bitter.
At that moment, I decided I wanted to be a funny grandpa like that one day. The kind of old man with dyed green hair whose grandchildren loved to visit and who knew how to use a cell phone.
“You know what, Jonas?”
„Was?“
“You’re a wanker, you know that?”
Jonas twisted his mouth and was probably about to say in the best mom tone that you weren't allowed to say wanker.
Oh my goodness, the guy had a girlfriend! Although Andrea's girlfriend was thinking almost as censored in her head as Jonas's. They'd been together for three years now. Three years, that was crazy! They were just thirteen when they met in a super-romantic way in the hospital after having tonsillectomies at almost the same time.
So far, nothing more than kissing has happened between these two boring guys, but I actually thought it was totally fine. Jonas was just the kind of guy who thought holding hands was indecent.
But I really shouldn't have said anything, because when Jonas landed his Andrea at thirteen, I thought all girls were yuck! Besides, at that age, I still thought Pokémon was the greatest invention of all time—right after edible paper—and spent my nights drawing mustaches on the emaciated models in my mom's stupid fashion magazine.
I did that today too, but I've gotten over Pokémon by now.
The bus driver who brought the dilapidated bus to a clattering halt at the bus stop was a bad-tempered Indian who checked our bus tickets rather sloppily. There was another driver who always drove this route on weekends and always complained that he couldn't read my name on the pass.
"What's that supposed to mean?!" he asked each time in his worst dialect, tapping my card with his index finger. "Victoria Kascheni, or what? You don't look like a Victoria to me, boy..."
I had terrible handwriting and actually thought it was okay. The Indian bus driver seemed to agree and just nodded sleepily.
Jonas had apparently realized that he had annoyed me quite a bit today because of Vasilij and, without any fuss, gave me the window seat in the front row.
I don't know if it was fate or just coincidence, but as soon as I sat by the window and Jonas plopped down on the seat next to me, someone ran past the bus pretty quickly and headed north at breakneck speed.
All I could see were long legs and a blue shirt, but that was enough. It was clearly Vasilij, and he was running like the devil himself was after him.
“Didn’t he supposedly have to go the other way today?” I asked, confused, almost pressing my nose against the window.
The bus drove off, and Jonas just snorted. Satisfied and disgustingly slimy.
"Didn't I tell you?" he finally hissed. "There's something wrong with that guy..."
I actually really liked my mother, but sometimes she really got on my nerves.
It started in the morning when she would slam the vacuum cleaner head against my bedroom door with ignorant self-satisfaction while vacuuming, only to act surprised when I stood there pissed off after four minutes of the most terrible noise.
"What?!" she'd always say. Completely monotonous and predictable. "Awake already, idiot? Pick up your clothes off the bathroom floor. I'm not your cleaning lady!"
Honestly, my mother was actually pretty chill. Above all, she called me an idiot and not sweetheart like Jonas's mother did. A 16-year-old could handle being an idiot. Sweetheart was just too much of a good thing.
played over and over again on the old CD player that stood right next to the stove in the kitchen. Like every morning, Cossip My mother wasn't easily impressed, but the Cossip singer. she was truly captivated by
I was putting away my clothes in the bathroom, which I'd simply thrown into the corner yesterday. I hadn't gotten home until ten o'clock because Jonas had forced me to come over and explain to his mother why it wasn't his fault, why he was only now able to throw himself, crying, into the arms of his overprotective mother.
My mom had probably already received an outraged text message from Jonas' mother.
Jonas's mother's name was Valerie—please emphasize that correctly!—and she texted my mother about every little thing. If she were to email my mother, the subject line would probably always be the same.
By: Karla Kapinski
By: Valerie Burg
Subject: Your son sucks, do you know that?!
Man, I could practically see that email! Honestly, I wouldn't put it past Valerie the Witch. She always tottered around the world in her perfect shoes and with her French haircut, just to complain about all the imperfect things in life.
My mother never wore makeup, always wore simple clothes, and could repair the engine of her old Fiat herself without any help. That was useful. She was a mother you could count on. Jonas only had to do one really bad thing, and he'd be in a children's home faster than he could beg for mercy.
My mother, on the other hand, would always help me, honestly. I think I had already made a kind of contract with her at birth. I would always use my brain to think and take a shower at least four times a week, and in return, she would always be there for me.
Karla and Viktor Kapinski. A pretty good team, even though my old man apparently saw things differently ten years ago and now only contacts me from abroad on my birthdays.
I left the bathroom and drank milk from the carton in the kitchen. Another thing my mother took lightly. As long as I always drank from the same carton and didn't open seven at once, it was totally easy.
"Someone called for you, by the way!" my mother suddenly called from the hallway, cursing briefly because something wasn't working properly with the vacuum cleaner cord's automatic retraction mechanism. My mother would sooner die than wind up the cord by hand .
"What?!" I shouted back, putting the milk back in the fridge. "What is it?!"
“Someone called for you, idiot!”
"And who?!"
“My God!” Wasilij threw the controller halfway across the room, pissed off, as soon as the game told him that I, cool guy, had won and he, poor bastard, had clearly lost.
Actually, it wouldn't have been so dramatic if he threw the controller around, assuming it actually belonged to him. Unfortunately, the controller didn't belong to him and officially belonged to the game store where we spent our evenings.
There were tons of free hours of gameplay, the latest gaming devices to test out, and no game we hadn't already played through.
Was it pathetic to be a 16-year-old boy who lived only for football and pixel worlds? Maybe, but there were certainly worse things.
"Hey!" came the obligatory scolding from the boss behind the cash register. "Please handle our items with care, young man!"
Vasilij nodded with great understanding, but I immediately knew he'd be throwing something around again in ten minutes. My God, the guy was already almost 6 feet tall at 16 and had such a nasty Russian accent that he was the kind of guy whose passport and residence permit would be checked by the police without a second thought .
Jonas didn't like the fact that the tall Russian from the special needs class had been hanging around with us so much since the beginning of this summer, but Angel Jonas didn't like the idea of feeding the ducks either. The ducks could choke on the oversized pieces of bread and became so dependent on the feeding that they completely lost track of how to find food in the water itself.
Absolute nonsense, I thought. Sad truth, Jonas thought, and it didn't matter at all, was Vasilij's opinion. Although he admitted that he actually liked ducks. Actually, he even liked Jonas, which was pretty weird, because Jonas pretty much hated him.
“Can we finally go?”
Of course, it was Jonas, who was whining and shifting from one foot to the other. Jonas was the smallest guy in our class and was supposed to be in his bed by eight o'clock.
"Wait a minute!" I hissed. "One more round, okay?"
"You just said that! Vicky, the bus leaves in ten minutes!"
Vasilij snorted, which he always did when Jonas called me Vicky .
"Pussy," the Russian growled and simply pressed restart . "Dude, are we going to continue or what?"
I nodded and ignored Jonas's whining. Jonas actually annoyed me, but since his mother was my mother's best friend and both women were divorced, we saw each other practically every day.
At school, after school and then on the weekends, because our mothers always had to do something together.
I think Jonas liked me quite a bit, although not quite as much as his stupid ducks.
We continued playing for almost another hour, the bus had long since left without us and Jonas was almost crying because he was now way too late getting home.
"Today is Friday, Viktor!" he spat. Honestly, the guy was 16 and sometimes sounded like a tearful toddler. "I have to be home before nine on Fridays!"
I nodded, pushed the controller, which was quite warm from my hands, back into its holder, and grabbed my school bag. "All right, Jonas baby. Relax. We'll just say I persuaded you to stay late."
"You did! My mother said she'd have to tell your mother that you..."
“Pussy,” said Vasilij again and patted Jonas hard on the back.
Vasilij never had to be home at any time of day. His home had to be a truly relaxed place, because he was allowed to wander around all night without anyone caring.
Jonas, who always followed his dear wife Mama's opinion on such matters, considered it a bad sign. According to Mama Jonas, it was only a matter of time before Vasilij forced us to steal some vodka and go to a brothel.
Complete nonsense, in my opinion. Vasily drank quite a lot, but he'd never forced us to do anything. Once, after school, he handed me a bottle of strong-smelling liquid, but after I said, "No, thank you," he just nodded and said it was better that way. The stuff tasted like horse piss.
Under the skeptical gaze of the boss behind the cash register, we dutifully trudged to the information desk, where I had to hand over my gym bag each time. School bags were okay, but anything larger had to be left directly at the entrance to the game shop.
Vasilij even had to hand over his school bag and empty his pockets on the way out. Every time. Even though he'd been coming and going for months, the shop attendants still had the feeling he'd take advantage of the situation and steal anything that wasn't nailed down.
"Actually, it's against the law," I said seriously, barely out on the street and on our way to the bus stop. "They're only allowed to force you to empty your pockets if there's serious suspicion."
I was doing Ms. Fricke's legal studies for the first time in my life, and I wanted to show off a little. Just for the sake of my neglected ego.
Vasilij just shrugged indifferently, and Jonas looked at me with his accusatory , 'Man, are you blind?! This strange Russian is a complete suspect!' look.
I think Vasilij always noticed Jonas's snarky look pretty clearly, but he never said anything. Even though he could crush that stupid smartass with just one hand, he never let it show.
“I have to turn here today,” Vasily said suddenly, causing general confusion because the road didn’t have a damn turn.
"Do it," Jonas simply said, pretending he wasn't a sneaky mama's boy at all, but a good guy who didn't want to get in his friend's way. "See you tomorrow?"
Vasilij nodded, patted each of us on the back goodbye, and simply crossed the street without even looking in either direction. Sure, the street toward the center wasn't exactly Berlin's Straße des 17. Juni , teeming with cars and asphalt, but still. It took a lot of courage to just trudge across the street.
"He's crazy!" Jonas hissed in his nasty, slanderous voice. "Honestly, Viktor. Ever since we started hanging out with him, it's been nothing but trouble..."
"And that would be...?" I asked, annoyed, and briefly followed Vasilij. He was walking leisurely on the other side of the street and seemed to be in no hurry.
Jonas remained utterly silent. Of course. The pisser was great at blaming and accusing, but he always lacked evidence.
"You'll see!" he finally hissed, barely having reached the bus stop. "At some point he'll put a gun to your head and demand that you steal a car or something..."
I laughed. I laughed so loudly that a grandma in a purple tracksuit gave me a quick, disapproving look. My God, if I were 150 years old, I hope I wouldn't be so shriveled and bitter.
At that moment, I decided I wanted to be a funny grandpa like that one day. The kind of old man with dyed green hair whose grandchildren loved to visit and who knew how to use a cell phone.
“You know what, Jonas?”
„Was?“
“You’re a wanker, you know that?”
Jonas twisted his mouth and was probably about to say in the best mom tone that you weren't allowed to say wanker.
Oh my goodness, the guy had a girlfriend! Although Andrea's girlfriend was thinking almost as censored in her head as Jonas's. They'd been together for three years now. Three years, that was crazy! They were just thirteen when they met in a super-romantic way in the hospital after having tonsillectomies at almost the same time.
So far, nothing more than kissing has happened between these two boring guys, but I actually thought it was totally fine. Jonas was just the kind of guy who thought holding hands was indecent.
But I really shouldn't have said anything, because when Jonas landed his Andrea at thirteen, I thought all girls were yuck! Besides, at that age, I still thought Pokémon was the greatest invention of all time—right after edible paper—and spent my nights drawing mustaches on the emaciated models in my mom's stupid fashion magazine.
I did that today too, but I've gotten over Pokémon by now.
The bus driver who brought the dilapidated bus to a clattering halt at the bus stop was a bad-tempered Indian who checked our bus tickets rather sloppily. There was another driver who always drove this route on weekends and always complained that he couldn't read my name on the pass.
"What's that supposed to mean?!" he asked each time in his worst dialect, tapping my card with his index finger. "Victoria Kascheni, or what? You don't look like a Victoria to me, boy..."
I had terrible handwriting and actually thought it was okay. The Indian bus driver seemed to agree and just nodded sleepily.
Jonas had apparently realized that he had annoyed me quite a bit today because of Vasilij and, without any fuss, gave me the window seat in the front row.
I don't know if it was fate or just coincidence, but as soon as I sat by the window and Jonas plopped down on the seat next to me, someone ran past the bus pretty quickly and headed north at breakneck speed.
All I could see were long legs and a blue shirt, but that was enough. It was clearly Vasilij, and he was running like the devil himself was after him.
“Didn’t he supposedly have to go the other way today?” I asked, confused, almost pressing my nose against the window.
The bus drove off, and Jonas just snorted. Satisfied and disgustingly slimy.
"Didn't I tell you?" he finally hissed. "There's something wrong with that guy..."
I actually really liked my mother, but sometimes she really got on my nerves.
It started in the morning when she would slam the vacuum cleaner head against my bedroom door with ignorant self-satisfaction while vacuuming, only to act surprised when I stood there pissed off after four minutes of the most terrible noise.
"What?!" she'd always say. Completely monotonous and predictable. "Awake already, idiot? Pick up your clothes off the bathroom floor. I'm not your cleaning lady!"
Honestly, my mother was actually pretty chill. Above all, she called me an idiot and not sweetheart like Jonas's mother did. A 16-year-old could handle being an idiot. Sweetheart was just too much of a good thing.
played over and over again on the old CD player that stood right next to the stove in the kitchen. Like every morning, Cossip My mother wasn't easily impressed, but the Cossip singer. she was truly captivated by
I was putting away my clothes in the bathroom, which I'd simply thrown into the corner yesterday. I hadn't gotten home until ten o'clock because Jonas had forced me to come over and explain to his mother why it wasn't his fault, why he was only now able to throw himself, crying, into the arms of his overprotective mother.
My mom had probably already received an outraged text message from Jonas' mother.
Jonas's mother's name was Valerie—please emphasize that correctly!—and she texted my mother about every little thing. If she were to email my mother, the subject line would probably always be the same.
By: Karla Kapinski
By: Valerie Burg
Subject: Your son sucks, do you know that?!
Man, I could practically see that email! Honestly, I wouldn't put it past Valerie the Witch. She always tottered around the world in her perfect shoes and with her French haircut, just to complain about all the imperfect things in life.
My mother never wore makeup, always wore simple clothes, and could repair the engine of her old Fiat herself without any help. That was useful. She was a mother you could count on. Jonas only had to do one really bad thing, and he'd be in a children's home faster than he could beg for mercy.
My mother, on the other hand, would always help me, honestly. I think I had already made a kind of contract with her at birth. I would always use my brain to think and take a shower at least four times a week, and in return, she would always be there for me.
Karla and Viktor Kapinski. A pretty good team, even though my old man apparently saw things differently ten years ago and now only contacts me from abroad on my birthdays.
I left the bathroom and drank milk from the carton in the kitchen. Another thing my mother took lightly. As long as I always drank from the same carton and didn't open seven at once, it was totally easy.
"Someone called for you, by the way!" my mother suddenly called from the hallway, cursing briefly because something wasn't working properly with the vacuum cleaner cord's automatic retraction mechanism. My mother would sooner die than wind up the cord by hand .
"What?!" I shouted back, putting the milk back in the fridge. "What is it?!"
“Someone called for you, idiot!”
"And who?!"