Waking up at 7a.m. would be a bad idea on any day. Yet people do this all the time. Working people. Sometimes even earlier. It feels ungodly but I suppose the early bird does catch the worm.

All this ranting might lead you to believe that I woke up at 7 this morning myself, and you would not be wrong. I didn’t get much sleep last night. Restless. Past phantoms visited themselves upon me and I dreamed of electronic circuits that did not work. I couldn’t make them work.

Autopilot: first a warm, invigorating shower, then the teeth and a shave. Turn the computer on and make some toast while I pour cold milk into my mug. Breakfast while photoshopping the Photo-of-the-Month for August. Rufus wainwright garbling about pretty boy poses in the background.

7.59a.m. I grabbed my bag, small and compact, hastily packed the night before (as with Berlin last year, five minutes is all it takes), locked my room and ran out of the house to catch the 8.06.

Getting out of the U-Bahn, I met several ex-classmates leaving for their first day of work. Summer internships. It seems wrong to work while others play. Or is it the other way round?

Manuel was waiting in his room, all his belongings, the cast of a yar, sitting patiently around him. Beer maßes all bundled in a black sports bag, mementos of the times we borrowed from whoever, wherever. The two silver armchairs, broken into bones, snug in their cardboard boxes. A humungous blue IKEA carryig sack, weighed down by a hundred different things, each with a tale of their own to tell. These are things of when we made merry.

We chatted while Franco, his brother-in-law, was driving to Munich without maps or directions, armed only with a certainty of reaching his destination. I asked Manuel if they did anything after dinner last night and he said everyone went their own ways. Everyone had something to do.

Dinner, of course, was at the redoubtable Lucullus. This establishment has single-handedly made Greek food (which seemed meat, meat and more meat) one of my top three favourite cuisines (Italian and Chinese being the other two).

I bumped into Tolis in the U-Bahn and as we talked, it amazed me still that people do find out about my life through my journal. I’m both amused and pleased with this.

The rest were already there inside the restaurant. Tolis and I would’ve made them go inside anyway if they happened to be outdoors. The sky, after three consecutive days of cloudless sun, was dark and rumbling. Rain appeared to be inevitable.

It was shockig to see Erich with a small glass of fanta when everyone else was guzzling beer. He soon rectified this with an immediate order of a Weißbier, thus salvaging his reputation somewhat.

I don’t remember what the rest had for dinner, but Manuel, Mike and I all got the eponymous house speciality: Lucullus – an immense platter with everything on it. None of us had been able to finish it off before but I’m proud to say that the three of us managed to polish off every last chunk of meat last night.

The Power of Three. Appetites, I mean.

In the meantime, Manuel got a call from Indro, asking for directions. It was absolutely puring by now and when Indro finally sloshed into Lucullus, he was completely drenched an drippin from head to toe. What a champ.

We ended the night with a round of uozo, shots of something that tasted remotely better than Hadi’s Golden Arak, though by the look on his face afterwards, Erich would probably disagree.

Then we ran through the rain to the U-Bahn station, and somewhere along the way, Hadi inadvertently picked up a red-faced admirer. That, plus the verbal assault by yet another drunk in the subway, must have made his day. Not.

And then we parted ways, each to each. Everyone had something to do.

Back in Useless McGyver’s old room, we wondered if Mike was ever gonna wake up to see Manuel off. Knowing the nature of his rising hours perfectly well, we opted not to wait but to wake him instead.

We did exactly that and reminded him to eat today, not having us around to cook or drag him outside for a meal. I hope Little Monkey survives.

Franco came a little before ten and we hauled the stuff downstairs to his Audi station wagon. Many hands make light work is right. Then cheerio to Mike, who’ll be heading to Berlin to meet up with Chiara and Michael, and later to the Czech Republic. (I suggested he try Maria at Hamburg too.)

And then we were off.

Before we got on the highway, while we were still in the streets of Munich, I noticed the cars buzzing around, driven by busybusy people. Working people. The early birds who catch their worms.

I wonder what worm it is that they catch?

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Copyright © 2002 Kenny Mah Ying Fye.