Re: Wednesday night.

Yet another dinner party; this time Marco played host for Shannon who was flying home the next morning. She also really very much wanted to learn some dishes from Marco. Did a very good bruschetta under his supervision.

The first course was risotto, good. But the chicken breasts cooked in butter and wine was possibly the best thing Marco’s cooked for us yet. The fact we waited for quite a bit after the risotto for Dona and Maggie to arrive (the girls were at an opera, Madama Butterfly) helped to make us absolutely delirious for it.

And Marco’s leaving in a week.

Shannon was asking me earlier why were we all afraid of Marco. This coming from a girl he chased down the corridor with a breadknife (you’d think she’d figure it out by now). As Marco raised his glass to us and we reciprocated in toast, I know it’s sheer respect for this man of knowledge and verve. (Which is not to say it’s not fear as well…)

The evening (so far) was relatively tame by our standards. Useless McGyver only broke a chair, Marco another one of Manuel’s Coca-Cola glasses (it’s unfair I didn’t get to break one) and I didn’t even get wasted and lay waste to Marco’s bathroom again.

 
Re: Thursday morning.

By midnight, half had left, leaving only the two Mikes, Shannon, Hadi, Manuel, Marco and I. The dispute over the mp3 playlist from earlier (Erich threw out Shannon’s oldies, only to put on Enya and Enigma, much to my dismay) continued, with me getting my U2′s One only after two iterations of A-Teens’ Dancing Queen (to which these uncultured buffoons forced me to boogie to).

2 a.m. Marco collapsed on his bed. Useless McG blew fire from a wine bottle in Manuel’s direction (the horrified expression on the poor kid’s face was hilarious) and contiued his series of potential fire hazards by burning the cork as well.

I was certain we would burn the place down.

In the end, he just smeared the charred remains all over his face, giving himself a French moustache and sliver of a beard. His comical impression of a Frenchman aside, we decided to go out for a walk and fresh air. The both of us made a trip up to the roof first, though, and he let fly a giant paper airplane, followed closely by an unpotted plant, which smashed much more satisfyingly on the ground twenty floors below.

All of us then set off, with Manuel running around like a six-year old on acid. Never seen the dude this high before, well, not without barfing anyway. Useless McG picked up a stack of newspapers and we threw them to the wind, simultaneously littering and defacing public property.

The crazy Italian ran through the carpark trying to operate the entrance bar, even grabbing a key to work it. We bundled into a telephone booth (once we explained to Manuel it would make more sense if we were all in the same booth) while Hadi tried calling someone at three in the morning.

As we passed by the grocer’s, Manuel decided the fruits and vege crates were very colourful and he wanted some. He settled for climbing over them to peer at the top of the store. We ran down the U-bahn escalator against the flow. Useless McG started playing his harmonica and we sang our hearts out.

Manuel found yet another thing (a bicycle by the bushes) to play with. He tried riding it (I persuaded him not to). Ended up “relocating” the bike instead. Risked life and limb following the goons crossing the road. By the time I caught up, they’d found some concrete blocks they decided would look better as concrete bits.

Uprooted and threw, javelin-style, some streetposts on the way to the Max-Planck Institute, where I was sure we were trespassing on private property. Manuel “relocated” another bike, this time some poor child’s. Also tried climbing some building but gave up when he saw there was no one around him.

Useless McG found another streetpost. I told him not to throw it again. He didn’t. Just swung it against a column, strangely resulting in a loud CLANG. We legged it.

Ended up somewhere in the Englischer Garten. Manuel ran around with his hood on his head and his jacket flying behind. I think he thought he was Batman. The cheesy one from the Adam West television show. They tried unscrewing a road sign, did not suceced.

Came to some suburbs. Useless McGyver and Manuel threw a trash can into the backyard of a house. We ran for it. Again. When we saw the two of them frisking through a dumpster, we walked briskly away from them.

Shannon was sure we had commited enough criminal activites to get arrested and she wasn’t about to spend any time behind bars, not when she had a plane to catch in a few hours. As if to comfort her, the Demented Duo came running up with a road sign (NO PARKING) they just happened to “pick up”.

Sure, why not, just add accidental theft to the List (public disturbance, vandalism, trespassing and basically being completely out of our minds).

Mad, mad, mad.

When we went back to Stusta, we put the sign in Marco’s bedroom (something for him to ponder on when he wakes up) and boarded up his door with police NO CROSSING tape. All of us dropped down in Manuel’s room and had Water, sweet, precious Water. When we left at five, Manuel was finally out like a lamp.

Wonder what dreams madmen dream?

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Copyright © 2002 Kenny Mah Ying Fye.