Reopening Days

Being back in there again, looking at the ceiling, the first thing I realize is that the TV is missing. They didn't put it up there again. I don't know where to glue my eyes. Apart from that not many things have changed. The walls are white, whiter than then used to be. And there is something what looks like bricks in a circle segment of 40 degrees on the most above the kitchen door. I suppose it is a kitchen, suppose that's the place they store the ingredients, the junk, meat, in huge deep freezing machines. But it definitely ain't the place where the food is prepared. That's right in front of my eyes. For a moment. And then, back at the ceiling, the TV is missing. That is unlike anywhere else in Europe. This is new, fresh as the paint on the walls and the board with the names of meals and prices, up at the wall behind the the shiny glass bar you can look through to choose salads and pickles.
From behind, somewhere near my right shoulder James Dean orders a kebap without onion. Turning a little to that side I could see him, again. While he stares at the board again looking for something he can't find and orders a coke. 'Diet?' - 'You're kidding me, right?' Even I can't find what James was looking for, but I realize that some of the complains I had about the typography of the board seemed to be heard. It's good to hear the clerk's voice again. Kurt Cobain is in here as well. Instead of a blown out brain he carries a plastic bag containing a stolen DVD player. His eyes aren't to good any more searching for the change, while the clerk doesn't even care how much he gets for the tuna pizza Kurt ordered. Maybe because he can see, as everybody can, Kurt doesn't have a lot of teeth left and the awful yellow crusted remains are rotten like the strange thick 80ies colored jacket he wears, although it's hot like hell in here. Reopening days - special offers. I realize there aren't even bulbs in the triangle of sockets underneath the ventilator which now hangs from the ceiling instead the TV. A boy of maybe eight years is facing me facing the ventilator, which is trying to fight the heat. It can't and the boy smilies at me. While I face the new clerk I never seen before who is preparing pizzas in the background. I must be tiered. The clerk is Kevin Spacey who stands there spreading the dough for the coming pizza with the exact same expression of pretending happiness and not to care, knowing he's being watched on his face he had in American Beauty, where he's doing the fitness drink in the morning. The heat is terrible. There more and more people, a real crowd comes in - out of movies I've never seen before. The boy is still smiling the ventilator is turning and Kevin Spacey prepares a pizza for Kurt Cobain rotten teeth and James Dean, who is Russian or polish opens the can and empties it up to the last drop while he is still in the overheated joint. And the ventilator is turning, turning, turning before it dissolves right in front of my eyes, changing into the well know silhouette of a bell helicopter, and there is music, slow and slowly getting louder as the volumes' turned up, 'this is the end - my only friend - the end', - that's not the end. That's the Doors. I realize it while the door opens up again letting somebody out or in - I cannot see clearly anymore although the rain is gone. That ain't the apocalypse, not now. That's my street, my home town - in reopening days.