11/03/2019
Meggi
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Commissioner Olfattke takes a time-out
Last chapter - Many astonishments
Commissioner Olfattke was amazed today.
On the one hand there was the fact that the thought of his departure tomorrow made him discontented. Just three days ago he had longed for the moment when his silly forced vacation would finally end.
On the other hand, he was just taking part in a kind of bus trip. It had led to Gut Emkendorf, one of the country music festivals that took place every summer as part of the Schleswig-Holstein Music Festival. And despite all the arrogance of the capital, he had to admit to himself that Berlin did not offer such an experience. More remarkable, however, was the fact that he, who had previously reviled the participants on these tours as a collective Alzheimer's self-experiment, had been embarrassed to find that the majority of the remaining passengers were hardly older than himself. But much nicer.
Thirdly, he was amazed by his scent of the day. What now - di Sale? Already the prelude had been after short salt little house above all herbaceous-spicy-green, with tidy ethereal oils thereby. A swelling, sugary sweetness that diffusely reminded him of fir needles and scuffed past the fir honey did not fit into the picture either. You had to smell pretty much to feel a distant maritime aura. And the tide was out. During the morning, the sweetness had given way to a more balsamic, creamy, slightly bitter impression, which finally ended in mild wood. And before that problematic muff could have developed, the scent - as clever as it is atypical for the manufacturer - faded away in the course of the afternoon, leaving only a brackish-gray hint behind. Whatever sea might be meant by this, the nearby Baltic Sea was certainly not.
Fourth, yesterday's experience of a harmless mini-crime case had made it clear to him that he was by no means as dull as he had thought. It had felt surprisingly much better not to find a massacre at a crime scene, but only to solve a simple case of vandalism. Over the years, he may have become thinner-skinned instead of thicker-skinned. He'd think about it.
But by far the most amazing thing was the little piece of paper in his wallet, on which two names and an address had been scribbled in eagerly clumsy children's handwriting. He, of all people, a cynical sourpuss who had always made a bow about children, had been forced, so to speak, to become a pen friend of two primary school pupils. With that sincerely worried sympathy, how only children can feel towards the old, the two had reassuringly assured him that it didn't matter at all that he didn't have a WhatsApp and so he was allowed to write a letter as well.
His new smile about this consideration made him realize that he urgently needed to think through his relationship with children in general. Maybe he could practice on that with... Martin? Marvin? Marius? What was the boy's name? Damn, he didn't even know his grandnephew's name anymore. Although his sister had only raved to him about her newly hatched grandson three weeks ago. And he had barely listened.
Tomorrow night, he'd call her
------------------------<<font color="#ffff00">-==- proudly presents
The remaining chapters:
1. Comptoir Sud Pacifique, Aqua Motu
2. Zoologist, Bat
Commissioner Olfattke was amazed today.
On the one hand there was the fact that the thought of his departure tomorrow made him discontented. Just three days ago he had longed for the moment when his silly forced vacation would finally end.
On the other hand, he was just taking part in a kind of bus trip. It had led to Gut Emkendorf, one of the country music festivals that took place every summer as part of the Schleswig-Holstein Music Festival. And despite all the arrogance of the capital, he had to admit to himself that Berlin did not offer such an experience. More remarkable, however, was the fact that he, who had previously reviled the participants on these tours as a collective Alzheimer's self-experiment, had been embarrassed to find that the majority of the remaining passengers were hardly older than himself. But much nicer.
Thirdly, he was amazed by his scent of the day. What now - di Sale? Already the prelude had been after short salt little house above all herbaceous-spicy-green, with tidy ethereal oils thereby. A swelling, sugary sweetness that diffusely reminded him of fir needles and scuffed past the fir honey did not fit into the picture either. You had to smell pretty much to feel a distant maritime aura. And the tide was out. During the morning, the sweetness had given way to a more balsamic, creamy, slightly bitter impression, which finally ended in mild wood. And before that problematic muff could have developed, the scent - as clever as it is atypical for the manufacturer - faded away in the course of the afternoon, leaving only a brackish-gray hint behind. Whatever sea might be meant by this, the nearby Baltic Sea was certainly not.
Fourth, yesterday's experience of a harmless mini-crime case had made it clear to him that he was by no means as dull as he had thought. It had felt surprisingly much better not to find a massacre at a crime scene, but only to solve a simple case of vandalism. Over the years, he may have become thinner-skinned instead of thicker-skinned. He'd think about it.
But by far the most amazing thing was the little piece of paper in his wallet, on which two names and an address had been scribbled in eagerly clumsy children's handwriting. He, of all people, a cynical sourpuss who had always made a bow about children, had been forced, so to speak, to become a pen friend of two primary school pupils. With that sincerely worried sympathy, how only children can feel towards the old, the two had reassuringly assured him that it didn't matter at all that he didn't have a WhatsApp and so he was allowed to write a letter as well.
His new smile about this consideration made him realize that he urgently needed to think through his relationship with children in general. Maybe he could practice on that with... Martin? Marvin? Marius? What was the boy's name? Damn, he didn't even know his grandnephew's name anymore. Although his sister had only raved to him about her newly hatched grandson three weeks ago. And he had barely listened.
Tomorrow night, he'd call her
------------------------<<font color="#ffff00">-==- proudly presents
The remaining chapters:
1. Comptoir Sud Pacifique, Aqua Motu
2. Zoologist, Bat
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