At the end

The days drag on endlessly while I wait for the missing part from Sydney. It rains constantly. I read a lot, “The Pornographers Poem” by Michael Turner. Watch “Shortbus” for the second time. The last song is beautiful: “We all get it in the end”. My old hostel sold my bed, even though I said I’d be back. Never mind, it was rubbish anyway.

The lady of the house drives me to the next one. It’s completely empty. A whole dorm for me. Silence, endless silence. Then a train passes behind. I’m grateful for that. I go outside, smoke a cigarette. Sit and watch the rain fall. A frog hops across the yard. A gecko screams for a female. Evening programme in Cardwell.

Luckily there’s a petrol station with wireless here. I sit there every day. Working like a fool. Some nice and some sad emails arrive. I answer them all as best I can. Someone has had a baby. Another person becomes a family therapist and realises himself. A third person can’t sleep. I watch the Aussies. I don’t understand people. At least here it’s just the slang.

On the third day, my part arrives and is fitted. I pull up to the workshop in the rain. “Yes, we did a test drive. No, there’s no reason not to take this car out into the desert.” The V-belt squeaks, so I go back again. At the next petrol station, I notice that the water got pretty hot pretty quickly. Anything under steam is normal for this car.

I drive another 3 kilometres. The engine stutters. Stops. Won’t start. Piston seizure? Rien ne va plus. I own three cars right now. One in Germany, it was always good. One in New York, which should have been sold long ago. I haven’t heard from the mechanic there for eight months. And now this one.

I’ve driven 3000 kilometres so far. Excluding petrol, that’s €0.70 per kilometre. I sit down at the petrol station. Watch the cars drive past. It’s raining. “You had a bad day” is playing on the radio.

The end? Man, I just don’t feel like it anymore. The worst thing is: I no longer believe that everyone gets what they deserve. Just got the call from the mechanic I’ve been waiting for. The engine is ruined. Teeth on the V-belt have torn off. The valves practically exploded. The car is worth scrap.