On the bottom of the city

The railroad cars of the express train rolled endlessly over the tracks. Rainstorms painted streaks on the disks and I enjoyed the possession of a ticket. Do you have perhaps a ticket for a poor man? I had begged. My thinking was right: Ninety per cent of all humans are extremely good. Large city stations, only of the finest one. Chrome railings rose up out of glass aluminum fronts. Is there enough begging money in my bag for buying a cup of coffee on a station the train stopped? Scarcely, but I got my cup. The province however camouflaged itself by the rain of that night. Weak midnight lanterns revealed towns with houses on life annuity properties. The speed was reduced. Only goods trains seemed to have priority. There was the station I remembered: KREIENSEN. Old but now modernizes. It was always night, if I rolled through that station and each time it was raining. Twenty years ago I slept in a baggage net, when our train passed that station. We turned the disks down. All steel, dark tanks still stood on their broad chains on the trailers. Few hours later the vehicles would be unloaded by us in order to fight for a war, which then fortunately never have happened. Out, I finished my remembering. The compartment was warm and the travel paid. Have somebody a ticket for groups, in order to give a young lady permission to travel? The intelligent young woman with the gently brown hair fought for her place in that train. Probably she wrote novels and lived near Paris. The participations in turnover for selling books were scarce. And she needed the money for rent, not for her journeys. Only an assumption from me. The course companion intends to hand her on the station of KASSEL to the police. He wanted to do this already before two hours in Hanover. Barking sounded from toilet. A passenger without ticket but with dog, radio and big survival luggage was ordered to sit down in our compartment. No release on free distance, but the course police will have work. The man with the dog was full of alcohol and mad. He switched on his radio and pointed with his small finger toward the lady and me. She fled to the course companion and was not welcome. The man without ticket tried to make me angry by the noise of his radio. Unscheduled stop at a quiet station. Go away, for her and her murderer. Shit! My knowledge of group-dynamic situations did not leave peace to me. Also I crawled the railroad car stairs down and followed the nice lady, the man and the big dog. He talked angry and I provoked him that he would be a virtual nature. Rains and storm forced us to creep by a gap into the cellar of a ruin. We were not alone and stairs descended more deeply to a destroyed, underground depot plant. Shapes, like from a film of horror, stood around a fire place. They showed heaviest wounds on their arms or legs and injuries in their faces. That remembered their hard life in factories, from road fights and diseases in overseas. They urgently spoke to the young woman: If all away are, if all...? Topics arose, about the power of secret associations in Casablanca and people on mountains. The power on beginning of the world. Here, in his head. We would inaugurated into it now. The lady and I discovered some rays of sun. The night was over. I promised a box of beer. She entered the next bus. I was able to get and bring the beer. Never, that was not my world! I was still too young. I hate only drinking beer and hiding in the cellar. See you later, bye, bye! Eating noodles, drinking coffee, reading newspapers. Please in restaurants: This is my world.