Untitled Document

Updated May 2001

I hate mornings as it is, but being woken up at 4 a.m. is probably the worst. “What the hell is it?” I asked in an almost complete, dreamlike state.

“Pack your bags, you’re leaving for Warsaw” was the answer.

“What?” I began to ask “It’s Saturday, isn’t it? Who is this?”

“It’s Johnson, Medon’s appointee.” Came the monotonous reply. What the hell does Medon need an appointee for, I thought, and what was an appointee? Johnson, whoever he was, cruelly interrupted my dazed thought process “you’re leaving on the 9 am flight”, great, that gives me, oh, 4 hours of sleep. “Your briefing is here at the center at six, be there.” I was about to protest about the fact that the center opens at ten on Saturdays, but Mr. Appointee already hung up. Great, I didn’t even know how long I was going for, what the hell was I suppossed to pack? And what kind of a name is Johnson, you’d think I was in the military or something.

You have to understand the strangeness of the situation, my intrests always revolved around international politics, so that is what my major in college was. When it came time to get a job, for some reason, my options were few. I got a dead end job as an understudy for some political firm, and I had no prospects for the future. Then one day, out of the blue, a Mr. Medon calls. He says he needs someone with knowledge of Central Europe’s cultures and languages. I informed him I was no expert, but before I could finish, he basically handed me the job. I was going to get $47,000 a year, after taxes. I took it, I mean, I was barely getting twenty grand at the time!

I remember how strange my first day on the job was. When he gave me the address I was surprised, I figured it would be somewhere in downtown Chicago. But no, it was in the blue collar neighborhood of Cicero. When I drove up to the building, I thought it had to be a mistake, it looked like an abandoned strip mall. The parking lot had grass growing through the numerous cracks, and the building itself had four vacant offices. The only business besides the one I was to work at was Larry’s Flower Shop, and it didn’t look like a promising one. I drove up in my ‘85 Honda Civic, parking right next to a brand new silver BMW Z-3, the only car on the lot. The “business hours” sign had “closed” written on it for every single day except Tuesday and Saturday. I walked in, and it was deserted. Big, metal, bulky desks, probably out of the fifties, lined the walls. All of them had a nice layer of dust on them, and so did everything else. At the end of this fairly large room was a cheap brown door, I walked over and knocked.

“Ah, Mr. Vogt, please come in!” Was the sound coming from the inside. I jiggled the rusty gold handle and walked in. This room was by far the worst example of office decoration I had ever seen, it looked appropriate for a junkyard office. Old, fake wood paneling decorated the walls, while the dark orange carpet, accented by the stains of centuries ago filled the room with a stale stench. The smell probably existed because the room had no windows, and was probably always closed. The ceiling was actually wallpapered, crookedly I might add, in a dark yellow and green flower pattern, the only light was the one coming from the corner, a lamp which I swear I had to have made in my sixth grade shop class. The desk was actually a large rectangular table, it was covered in papers and coffee mug imprints. The man behind the desk looked absolutely delighted, he was wearing some fancy Italian silk suit, with an awful choice of a tie which was patterened with terrible representations of oranges. His long greying beard was not to be outdone by his moustache, which looked waxed. But what really focused my attention was the fact that the left side of his moustache was completely gray, while the right side was still brown.

“Care for a drink?” Mr. Meldon, I presumed, asked.

“No thanks, I had a Jolt on my way here.” I replied, but Mr. Meldon didn’t get my joke and ignored my comment.

“Well, take a seat, here’s some coffee.” I sat down on some old, orange cushioned seat that looked as if it was out of some seventies porno. “Let me tell you all about us here at the center. We’re in the business of diplomacy. We try to get our business partners to cooperate with us.” he lectured, stretching every last word of the sentence. “Your job is going to be simply researching for ‘us’.” He grunted and sat back in his chair, he lit a cheap cigar and looked straight at me, forcing me to look at the floor. “Now, what you’ll be researching is quite simple, it will be the laws in which we have to operate.” At this point he got up and gave me seven books. In my hand where the general law and economy books for almost all of the former Eastern Bloc countries. I saw the one on top, Czechoslovakian Economic Roadblocks. A little out of date, but I didn’t feel like commenting. “Read these, get a good grasp of what’s going on, and you’ll report to me in a couple of weeks. I’ll let you know when your next visit should be.” With this I took the out-of-date books, and he escorted me to his car, which turned out to be mine. “Here you go”, he said, handing me the keys to the BMW, “this is your company car.” Nice company car, I thought to myself, you’d figure they could afford some furniture. So I drove home and tried to read the books, and was presented with this sort of busy work for about three months, leading me up to now.

I had to get packed, I looked at my closet, and upon seeing that it was empty, I knew I wouldn’t be looking very professional for the meeting. I picked my crumpled suit off the floor, and suddenly realized I really needed a Tylenol, maybe a few. No wonder I was so dazed on the phone, I was still drunk. What time did Joe drive me back, was it two or three? I made myself some coffee, swallowed down some pills, and I felt as good as three-day-old socks. I never agreed to be on call 24 hours a day. I quickly changed thoughts, why was I going to Warsaw? I’d read, well at least skimmed, all the crap Meldon gave me, but when I reported on it, he never gave a shit. Never a word, just “uh, huh, great, well, here’s this weeks material, tell me if you need more time.” Fact was, every time I did come in he was alone, the office looked untouched, and I stayed for five, maybe ten minutes. I never met another person. My friends said I had the dream job, doing nothing and getting paid for it. Nor did I ever think twice about it, I just figured I was lucky. The same way I was lucky on my ACT’s out of high school, the same way I was lucky with my LSAT, getting me into the U of C. I always believed luck was on my side, except for when it came to women. No, women and luck never entered the same county with me. The last steady girlfriend I had was six years ago, freshmen year of college. She cheated on me, and I used it as an excuse to get rid of her. She just wasn’t my type, no one was my type. There was only one person on the planet that was right for me, and she went in and out of my life four years ago. I saw her for one night, one night only. We spent it talking on the old streets of Cracow. I told her I’d keep in touch, she said I wouldn’t. She was partially right. I felt I truly connected with her, like we had a bond that we couldn’t escape. I felt fate would have its way, and we would one day be united. I wrote her some letters, usually on some depressing night, where I rambled on about my love for her and my burning desires. I always regretted sending them, “you’ll scare her away” I’d say to myself, but on the other hand, loneliness made me do it. She replied twice, she didn’t exactly express the same feelings I did, fact was she talked about school and what someone said to her that day. I never looked at that, I only saw the words love, Adriana. Problem was, we lived on different continents. I met her in Cracow during a trip my Junior year of college, and never saw her again. That was the only time I had enough time and money to go there.

My thoughts switched again to my crumpled suit. It was a cheap one I picked out during my first year at U of C. I wouldn’t let my parents buy me one, I guess I felt guilty that I was wasting their money on an education that I wasn’t using. Regardless, even with my healthy new checks, I never felt like getting up to buy a new suit. I picked the dark olive suit off the floor and tried to straighten it with my hands. I knew it was a feeble attempt, but it was out of habit. I looked in my drawers, great, all out of socks and underwear. Well, I’d been out of socks and underwear for two days as it was, so it was another day of smily face boxers for me. The socks I wasn’t happy about, I turned over old newspapers searching the floor until I found a pair under the bed that looked like they hadn’t been worn in a while. You have to understand my theory on clothes, especially socks. Socks are only good for one day of wear, maybe two if you’re lucky. Now, if your socks haven’t been worn for two or three weeks, I firmly believe that the odor and whatever else your foot projects onto the sock, evaporates. Therefore, I usually have no problem with wearing old socks, the only exception is if you’ve already done this to the sock twice. Then the sock must be washed. Underwear on the other hand is a completely different matter. You can wear underwear as long as it feels good, but you may in no way ever put on an old pair of underwear, it doesn’t work the way the socks do.

So, I put on my navy blue socks, smelled my white shirts that hugged all the corners of the room as if saying “please, please, not me!” I did a smell check and decided which one was the best. I put on the only tie in sight, pulled on my suit, and looked in the mirror. Yes, I was a used car salesman. A little cologne, and I was ready to leave. A little light went off in my head saying “pack”, I hated those lights. So I got my old, worn, brown briefcase, looked over the room and decided I would buy some clothes in Warsaw. I threw in my trusty deoderent/anti-perspirent, and I was ready to go. Getting into my car I could feel my feet, and figured that maybe it was time to amend my sock theory.

It was only a short drive to the office, and I figured if I had tried I would have been able to squeeze in a shower. The roads where still dark and empty. The sky was letting off a hint that maybe the sun would rise, the yellow lights buzzed above my car like pairs of bees, and I started to feel a little excited. I was getting a paid vacation! I still had some friends in Poland, I would probably be able to meet up with them. I knew times where changing, and that it might all be different, but when was I ever afraid of change? “All of your life,” I said to myself, but that wasn’t true. I never planned, I always winged it, figuring life was more exciting when you didn’t know what was beyond the curve in front of you. My life was a guidance counselors nightmare “look at that guy, he never planned a thing in his life, he never studied, never cared about anything, and now he’s making $47,000!” I remembered that I should call my parents, and maybe my friends, but I’d do it after the meeting.

Chapter Two

“So what’s the name of this kid again?”

“Clyde Vogt, he’s got the ties, and a dual citizenship, I couldn’t have dreamed of anything better! He gets a good deal of money, but doesn’t do anything until he’s asked of it.”

“Won’t he be a bit suspicious? Won’t he want to know what this thing’s all about?”

“Look, it’ll be all legal, we just need to get in their as fast as we can. We offer it to him straight, no questions asked. He does what he’s suppossed to, and we’re all happy. Now, it’s all settlled, he gets a lifetime partnership, and a percentage increased monthly income. He’s tasted the good life. I’ve read the kid over, he wants something to do with international law, but his grades weren’t good enough. And he doesn’t want to be some divorce lawyer. Remember, this is the best thing that could have happened to him! We can even let him think he’s a consultant or something. He’ll drive away with the biggest smile you’ve ever seen!”

I turned the corner onto Central Ave. and already saw the group of cars in front of the office. Great, a bunch of rich guys are going to see me like this. Hopefully they won’t notice my raspy voice, judging from Meldon, I doubt I’ll even speak. Besides, luck was on my side. I smiled at the thought. I parked my Z-3 next to an Acura NSX, I prefferred my Z-3. I walked up to the door, straightened my suit, and as I was almost ready to push the door, it opened. “Hi, I’m Johnson. We spoke on the phone?” I thought Johnson would be younger, but instead he was a guy in his mid-fifties. He was thin, and looked quite eloquent compared to Mr. Meldon. Smiling, he turned around and said “follow me”, as if I didn’t know where the only office in the center was. He knocked on the door, and the familair raspy voice of Meldon came through “come in, come in!” I walked into the room, it looked the same as before, with the exception of leather seats for the five men present.

“Well, Mr. Vogt, these are my business associates, if you were wondering” I was ready to crack a joke about the fishiness of the situation but he continued, “now we have a simple proposition for you before you leave today. We would like to have you work as, ” he hesitated and looked at one of his associates, a thin old man that had a frown as long as I’ve ever seen, he looked at me and continued “consultant”. Funny, I had already forgotten what he was talking to me about, maybe I should have had another coffee.

“Sure.” I blurted out. Confused, Mr. Meldon eyed me strangely.

“Well then, as a consultant you will also become a partner of our firm. We don’t like to have workers, we prefer you to work for yourself. Your job will be similair to what you’ve done so far, only you’ll have less of it.” Luck was on my side. “And it’ll include what you will do this week, you don’t have to decide now...”

“No, that’s great” I said, “I really enjoy the job, and I’m sure I’ll enjoy the business trips too.” I was hoping they would take my eagerness into account, and I didn’t want them to have the chance to change their minds if I screwed up.

“Well, yes, of course, great” Mr. Meldon said in a somewhat confused but happy tone “as a partner your pay will increase to $8,000 a month, with monthly inflation adjustments, and yearly 6% increases” I didn’t really hear anything past the “$8,000”, it was making me smile so widely that I think I was making my new partners uncomfortable. I truely was the luckiest man in the world, everyone but me was obviously really stupid, or I was a genius, and these men finally saw it.

“Now, as a partner, your job will be to register our company in Warsaw”

I interrupted Mr. Meldon “We’re multi-national sir?”

“No, but you have dual citizenship, you can register us under your name.” That made sense. “It would be a waste of time and money to become multi-national right now, this doesn’t pose a problem, does it?” Mr. Meldon probed, as if making sure I had brushed my teeth that morning.

“No, no, of course not!” I answered, I felt the chests of everyone in the room expand and contract in a somewhat simultaneous sigh of relief. No need to worry, I felt like saying, I can dance naked on this table every day for $8,000 a month!

“Well”. Mr. Meldon continued “after you register our company, you will go through the list of properties we wish to buy, and you will try to buy them. When you successfully buy these properties, the contract becomes valid, otherwise, you will still receive your old pay. Have I made everything clear?” I knew that there had to be a hitch, but hey, luck was on my side after all.

“Um, do I fly in business? And how long do I get on this?” I was more interested in my first question, but I threw the second one in because I wanted to act as if I actually cared.

“First Class and up to a month, hopefully one week, now, here is the binder with all the paperwork, which is filled out. Inside you will also find the properties we wish to buy, our lowest bid, and our highest bid. Payment can be made by direct cash transfer from a bank which we will specify by phone, when the time is appropriate. Now, I believe everything is clear, and you need to go and get a new suit before you leave.” He was one to talk, I’d never seen anyone with a worse sense of style. He continued to speak “there is a limo out front, we will park your car at the house, and please, Mr. Vogt, get some sleep, you look horrible.” On this note I thanked them all, again and again, and left for the limo. Yes, this was the life, I felt like some high roller on Wall Street, or just some filthy rich twenty-something from Hollywood. My adrenaline was pumping and I was trying to figure out when my income would hit a million a year with 6% increases. Ah, it didn’t matter, I could have lived on 47 grand a year the rest of my life.

I walked outside and opened the door to the limo, a man was sitting inside. “Is this my limo” I asked.

“Of course it is, I am here to help you with your choice of clothes” the very stylish man answered. I wondered where this man was when Mr. Medon went looking for a wardrobe.

“Great, what do I need” I asked as the limo pulled onto the street.

“Something that will speak of you as a professional.”

“Won’t that be a bit of a stretch?” I quipped. The stylish man did not find the comment amusing. I wiped the grin off my face and tried to be proffesional. “So, where are we going?”

“Don’t worry about that, I’ll take care of what you will need” he answered sternly. He slid back in the black leather seat and started looking me over. I was starting to get uncomfortable, so I headed for the liquor cabinet. It was fully stocked, I grabbed the Cranberry Finlandia and poured myself a drink. I could see the mans eyes frowning down upon me. “Would you like one?” I asked trying to be polite.

“At this hour? No, I don’t think so, I only drink natural substances. No coke, no liquor, nothing carbonated. Juice and wine is all I have.”

I was already smiling at my retort. “Why this is only the finest Vodka made of wheat and cranberry! It’s like wine made of bread. Nothing is better, personally I don’t drink wine, gives you a terrible headache.”

“You are obviously more then a social drinker.” The man said with an air of snobiness.

“No sir, I am no more or less a social drinker then you yourself.” Luckily for me the limo pulled up to a store, which was still closed. We got out, I saw the sign “Angelo’s Fine French Fashion”, a bit of a tongue-twister. The stylish man walked over to the door and pulled out some keys, quickly and effortlessly he opened the door. “You work here?” I enquired.

“I own the store” he answered, I decided to shut up on that note. He took out some measuring tape and began to feel me up, at least that’s what it felt like. After he got his measurments he instructed me to sit down. After twenty minutes of boredom, the man came out with a suitcase. “You are now packed, have a safe trip”. I’m not sure he meant it. I walked to the door, waved good-bye and left.

It was now time to get to the airport. I looked at the liquor cabinet, it was an ideal time to get my friends some presents. I picked out a bottle of Johnny Walker Black Label, I hated whisky, but I knew Johnny Walker was suppossed to be good. I also got some rum and vodka, not really caring what brands they were, all of them seemed expensive. The driver pulled up to the “Departure” sign as I was zipping in the last bottle, it really didn’t want to fit, so I had to sit on it. Well, it was time to go.

I checked in at a record time, I did have a first class ticket after all. I was one of the first ones to sit in the waiting room for boarding. I still had another 50 minutes till takeoff. I was about to get a drink at the bar when a man walked up to me “Vogt! What a wonderful surprise!” I was trying to place the man, but really couldn’t. “How’s your old man? I heard he started some car instruction school or something?”

“Auto Advisor”, I corrected him.

“Whatever, how is he doing?! How about yourself, I haven’t seen you since you graduated U of C.” So he was at my graduation party, I still couldn’t place him. “Ania got herself a job with a shipping company, she’s still trying for some ambassadorial job, but you know how it is.” Oh yes, beautiful Ania’s dad, I actually had a fling with her. She came to my graduation party with her mom and dad, it was actually a graduation party for my parents friends. They wanted to show me off a little bit, I knew I would get some money out of it so I didn’t object. That night I asked Ania if she wanted to go to the Dells with my friends and me, and she obliged. Luckily my friends pulled out, and I was left with her. I’m sure her dad would’t be very happy if he knew about that weekend. I never called her after that, so I guess she’s still a bit upset with me.

“Shipping company? That’s great, I heard their is a lot of upward mobility in those companies,” I lied with a straight face.

“Probably not, but at least she’s working. How about yourself?”

“I’m a consultant for a real estate company that has holdings in Central Europe” I answered proudly, “this is my business trip”.

“Maybe you should invest in a new suit.” he cracked. “How about we get a drink at the bar, I want to hear all the latest news from the Vogts!”

“I’d love to, but I really need to get up to date on some of my consultation.” I pulled that one out of my ass. Great, now I forced myself into reading the binder. I killed my chance for another drink.

“I’m sorry to hear that, well, we’ll have a chance to chat on the plane.” With that he patted me on the back and left for the bar. He looked like a heavy drinker, his nose was as red as the Soviet flag . I pulled out the binder and opened it. It was quite heavy, it was packed with info. I actually found out the name of my company, “Meldon and Associates” read the letterhead. Wonderful name I thought to myself, originality was obviously the strong point of my new partners. The first few pages were just overviews of what Mr. Meldon said. The seventh page had a map of Poland with the properties I was to buy. I would be making a lot of trips. The following pages had documents with instructions on what my offers where to be, and what the building would become. Most of them would be hotels and restaurants. In total I would be buying eight properties.

I looked back at the map and paused, Milicz? I was born in Milicz and one of the properties was in fact there. I quickly flipped through the binder until I got to Milicz. “Ruins of the XIV Century Castle” the top read. I would have to give Mr. Meldon a call, that was a terrible investment. The castle wasn’t near the town center, it was just old ruins that from what I remember, could in no way be rebuilt. They should have consulted me on that one. Oh well, as long as I got paid. I looked over another property, this one in Szczecin; a WWII bunker to be turned into a nightclub. Now that made sense. Prague had a club called “Bunkr” the last I remembered, and it was quite amazing. They should start making clubs out of bunkers everywhere.

“All first class passengers please come up to boarding.” I hesitated, but quickly realized it was me they were talking about. I walked onto the plane with my binder and sat down in my window seat. The First class section only had twelve seats, and from the looks of it not even half would be taken. I put my seat back and fell into a slumber.

I woke up during the in flight movie with a terrible thirst, I was still struggling with my hangover. I called over the stewardess and had her get me a Rum and Coke. Nothing better then booze to kill the ills of alcochol. I smirked thinking of the Polish saying “the one who drinks and smokes doesn’t have bugs”. Of course it rhymed in Polish. The stewardess came over and gave me my drink. Everyone was sleeping, I looked at the screen and saw the inflight movie. It looked like it was some cheap French production. The movie had me absorbed until one of the witches had to kill the father of her child because he was a normal human. It wasn’t that I didn’t like the idea, it was that I’d already seen two thousand movies on the subject when I was a teenager absorbed in the horror genre. Personally, I liked the idea of human sacrifice, simply because it was absurdly stupid. Now take that absurdity and start sacrificing all the wackos in the world. We’d start with Saddam, throw in a hint of Kadafi, a little bit of David Duke, and whoever the leader of the Femi-nazis is at the particular time. That would make for a lot of fun. Ask me about the death penalty, and I would say “no way”. Human sacrifice is the more acceptable of the two for me.

I woke again from my light sleep to see it was two hours left to Warsaw. I put my left hand on my arm rest, and oddly enough, I felt a forearm. I looked to my left to see Mr. Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer sleeping. He quickly nodded from his sleep when I accidentaly touched his arm. “Oh, told you we’d have time to talk! Heh heh! Well, I snuck up here during the movie, great seats! You just don’t get that in coach.”

“Right” I said pulling out one of my worst fake smiles ever. “Well, let me just look at my binder for one second, okay?” I pulled out the binder in hopes he would fall back asleep. I looked over the map again. Most of the cities where in the west of Poland, except one, Olsztyn, which was in the northeast. I looked at the cities, north to south. Koszalin, Szczecin, Gorzow, Zielona Gora, Milicz, Wroclaw and Opole. Milicz was the only small town in the lot. It was odd to me that they left out Warsaw and Cracow, on the other hand properties in those areas where no longer bargains.

“That’s funny.” Ania’s dad intruded.

“What’s that?” I questioned him.

“Well, those are all German cities you have marked.” I quickly moved to show him the error in his ways. He was obviously talking about pre-WWII borders.

“No, look at Olsztyn. That’s East.”

“You remember Hitlers excuse for attacking Poland? He wanted the Polish corridor, it seperated Gdansk and Olsztyn from the rest of Germany.”

“Oh.” I replied feeling doubly stupid. “That is a little odd, but I think it probably has to do with investment. Most of Western money is going to Western Poland.” While I was saying this he was already laughing, ready to burst with his answer.

“Right, like Koszalin? It has thirty percent unemployment!”

“Yes, but it is by the Baltic, do you think they are looking for Polish people? I bet you Germans will be swarming in all of these areas. That’s probably why they are all in former German territories, so Germans can at least economically regain lost lands.”

“Don’t tell me you support that?! “ He exclaimed with shock on his face. “Remember how America reacted when a Japanese company bought Rockafeller center years ago? Pretty soon Germans will be pushing us out, you watch out.”

“Well for now it’s Americans buying them out, so I wouldn’t worry” I replied. I looked over the map again, it was a bit odd, but what was I to question my superiors for. It was time for landing, and luckily for me the stewardess asked Rudolph to leave for the back. I looked out the window, it was cloudy. Like always, it was raining in Warsaw for my arrival.

I walked out of the terminal and saw a large “Vogt” sign. I walked up to the man holding it, “It is moi.”

“Great! I didn’t have to wait long at all, please follow me” the short stubby man answered in perfect English. He took my bags and loaded my bags into the trunk. Once again I remembered why I loved Europe so much, Merecedes taxis. I jumped in the front and caught a glimpse of Rudolph running toward my taxi, I acted as if I didn’t see him, and off we went. Poland had certainly changed, billboards lined the roads, and newly renovated buildings fought the rain as we drove past them. One thing that hadn’t changed was the congestion and potholes on the street. The road felt like a war zone as the driver fought his way through traffic, sitting closly to the steering wheel. After about ten minutes of death staring me at the face, we arrived at my hotel, the Jan III Sobieski. It was an old building to be certain, but the color scheme they decided on for the outside was quite horrid. Pink, green and yellow. It closely resembled vomit. I tipped the driver and walked in. The inside was much better, truly a world class hotel. I walked up to the counter, got my key, and decided I needed some sleep.

I awoke to the sun shining into my room. The clouds had cleared, the sky was crystal clear, you could see some of the smog settle towards the earth’s surface, and ever-present battle against nature. I looked at my binder wondering what I should do that day. I didn’t feel like working on my first day, so I got my wallet out and started looking over the hundreds of numbers I had written down. I found “Milosz”, he used to live in Chicago but moved back to Poland during my high school days. I went to the phone and started dialing. His mother picked up and gave me his current number, when I talked to him he asked me to meet him at the club Remont, I agreed.

“So, you’ve come to Poland, did somebody die?” Came the question from behind me, it was Milosz.

“No, just some business” I replied. Milosz had a short haircut, quite unlike the one I remembered in High School, when his hair went down to his waistline. “So, no more metal?”

“Oh, I still listen to metal” he replied “but I couldn’t really go around selling apartments in that hair, come on, let’s grab a seat.” We walked over to a corner, a petite blond waitress passed and smiled, the women were as pretty as ever. “So what has happened to you in the last, oh 8-10 years?”

“Life, I guess. Things are better than I imagined. Life seems to hand me a puzzle, with the directions before every step.”

“I know what you mean” he answered “but it isn’t like that, nothing is. You wouldn’t believe the shit that happens everyday, what passes before us without us ever noticing. Every second, you’re either a player or you’re being played. After that’s done with, you’ve got either heaven or hell to choose.”

“Or neither” I added.

“I don’t buy into purgatory” Milosz answered

“Neither do I, I don’t buy into religion. As Marx said, ‘it’s the Opium of the masses’”.

“So you’re okay with death? You never stay awake saying to yourself ‘there has got to be more?’”

“Yeah, I do, but I’ve got a theory on that.”

“I hope it ain’t like that sock theory of yours.”

“I’m putting that one to good use as we speak “ I quirked, “No this is different, tell me if you can follow this”

“Alright” Milosz said leaning back in his chair with extreme amusement.

“Matter is neither created, nor destroyed, am I right?”

“That’s what all my physics teachers said anyway.”

“Right, number two, the big bang is a recurring event that has happened infinite times before, and it will happen an infinite times more, right?”

“I won’t argue with Stephen Hawking on that one.”

“Well, in that case, the number of combinations in this universe is finite, because the number of pieces it can put together is limited, right?”

“Sort of, but organisms can reproduce from one, and become two.”

“Right, but they have to take something, which is matter, and transform it into something else, they don’t create matter.”

“I see what you’re getting at.” Milosz said leaning forwards intent on what I had to say next.

“So, if matter is limited, but time is infinite, that means the number of combinations is finite, which means that everything will exist again, infintely many times, and we have in fact been here, at this club an infinte number of times, and we have existed probably billions of times more in different situations.”

“I follow you, but I don’t think you’re right about us being here an infinte number of times.”

“Why is that?” I inquired.

“Well, we may have existed an infinte number of times because combinations are limited, but I don’t think situations are. Situations, things we do, so on, they are based on decisions which cannot be predetermined. They are infinite.”

“But in that case, we may never exist because our parents may never make the decision to consummate again.”

“Not so, that particular event HAS to happen for the human race to exist, I mean seriously, by your token, we have both slept with everyone, like that waitress, twenty billion big bangs ago, I bet you did her, I got her first though, thirty billion big bangs before you.”

I smiled at the wording. “Very feasible, I have trouble comprehending the ideas in this theory, it’s almost unfathomable.”

“Yeah, but I like it, good theory. Better than the Jesus was an alien theory, which I’ve heard in countless places. No way that was yours. Is this one your own?”

“I swear I didn’t rip it off. But it’s just to simple, either somebody has already written it down somewhere, or it has some big hole which we are looking over. Although nobody has given me a valid argument against it. It could explain deja vu, anyway.”

“No way, that would mean we have souls that stick around and wait until we reappear again.”

“I guess, but about that Jesus theory, I have a new idea about that.”

Smirking, Milosz slowly asked “Now what would that be?”

“Well, Jesus was half-alien. Mary was abducted by aliens, they impregnate her, erase the memory and insert one which will make her think it’s God’s work.”

“So they just messed with our heads?”

“Yeah, I bet it was some sixth-graders science project, I bet he got an A. After which, whatever government was running the country decided such projects are unethical, so all they do now is watch us.”

“You are the same freak as always, so I’m guessing, no women?”

“Nope, I’m a loser, I can’t get a date, I can’t get anything.”

“There are plenty of young Bulgarian women looking for work here in Warsaw, I’m sure you’d make a fine employer.”

“I wouldn’t steep that low, no, I’ve just lost the killer instinct I had in my younger days. How about yourself?”

“I broke up with my woman a month before we were to get married. Actually she broke up with me. That was two years ago. We had been going out for four years, somewhere in the middle of our relationship things just changed suddenly. She became more distant. I still keep in touch with her. I always hope… maybe she’ll change her mind? Ah, it doesn’t matter. Four years of my life, wasted.”

“Sorry” I uttered knowing it sounded a bit to appropriate to be appropriate.

“So what are you going to be doing now?”

“I’m going to go register the company I work for, tommorrow” with that I picked up a Lech beer, toasted it with Milosz, and we went out on the dance floor.

After ten minutes of dancing we realized that we might be to old for this type of thing. Not that we were out of breath, but most of the available females where in their late teens, or early twenties. Milosz and I were pushing late twenties. We took a seat and just talked. We must have had ten beers a piece by the end of the night, it was three and the petite waitress came up to us.

“I’m sorry boys, but we’re closing.”

“We’ll leave” I said “but only if you walk us home.”

She smiled and promptly said “I’m sorry, I can’t, I wouldn’t have a way back home.”

Being as drunk as I was I prompted her “You wouldn’t have to go home, you could just stay in my hotel room.”

She smiled once again and answered “that won’t be necessary”.

“Do me one favor” I said.

“Yes, what is it?”

“Well, I seem to have forgotten my phone number, could I borrow yours?”

“Not bad.” She voiced “better than the ‘do you wash your pants with windex, because I can see myself in them’ but not quite as good as ‘do your feet hurt? Because you’ve been walking all over my mind all day’. So, what are a bunch of nice over the hill guys like you doing in a teenage haven like this?”

“Over the hill!” Exclaimed Milosz , “Hey we’re still in our twenties! We belong here.”

“No, you belonged here five years ago” she chuckled.

Milosz then swiftly said “Do you know that you’ve slept with both of us numerous times?”

“That’s news to me, I usually sleep with myself.”

I quickly cut in trying to make the best of the situation “He is reffering to a theory I’ve developed.”

“We’ll have to discuss that theory some other time.” She then took a piece of paper, wrote her name and phone number, and handed it to me. “Now, if you guys don’t leave now, I won’t go out with either of you tomorrow.”

We looked at each other, realizing this was more than a fair deal, gave her a goodbye kiss on the cheek and quickly removed ourselves from the premises. We got in the taxi and Milosz asked “Does that mean she wants to go out with both of us?”

“I doubt it’s a real number, but considering she gave it to me, I think she meant me.”

“Well she only gave it to you because you forgot yours somewhere.” We got the giggles like a bunch of kids for the rest of the way to the hotel. I got out, told Milosz to call me early the next day, and headed for bed, another hangover to deal with.

Life isn’t simple, everything isn’t easy. Money, fame, all the stars say they don’t want it. They say it intrudes on the private lives that they lead. Well, why do they keep making films? Isn’t the star himself bringing upon himself the actual thing which he swears to dislike? It’s because they lie, like everyone does. They have something great and all they can do is try to find something wrong with it. The thing everyone wants more than fame, money, and sex… is sympathy. Sympathy. That’s the word. The stars want sympathy for the invasion of privacy they experience. NBA owners want sympathy for what they have to go through emotionally during the playoffs. Dictators want sympathy because of the horrors that they allege western countries unleash on them. Does everyone deserve sympathy? I don’t, I like sympathy, but I don’t deserve it, neither does anyone asking for it. Sympathy is deserved and reserved for those who don’t know they deserve it, and don’t want it. Simple as that. Today was a day I wanted sympathy. Oh what a life I had to lead, I had to wake up and talk to people. I had to sign papers, I had to converse, I had to sweat, I had to live. Sometimes you just don’t want to live, not necessarily suicidal, but you would rather not exist in a particular moment.

Stress is mental, you, not your work, your children or your wife bring it upon you. It is your drive, your thought, your goal to end problems that brings upon the stress, don’t blame anything on it. You can end it simply by realizing what it is: meaningless. How so? Well, twenty years from now you’ll know that worrying about where your son or daughter are at three AM didn’t change whether they came home drunk, sober, or in a body bag. You’ll know that what you do the next day doesn’t depend upon what you stay up all night thinking about. What you do creates results, not what you think you should do. Or not what you think you should have done. I should have studied more, I should have exercised more, I should have read more. Well, that won’t do you any good now. Maybe I should have told my daughter about pregnancy? To late now, instead of thinking about the past, plan for the future. That would be my answer, don’t dwell on lost opportunities. To me unfortunately, this is a lost idea. I belong to the masses of morons that continue to defy logic. I dwell, I dwell long and hard. Yet what should I dwell about? I had a great job, great friends, to many a great life! I also have a great loneliness. Yes, what could have been? Where is she now? What is she thinking about? What could I have done to make things different? I replay events in my head, over and over. Should I have kissed her at that moment? Should I have given her something? Should I have SAID something? All I could do is dwell, and dwell I did. The last years of my life, all I did was dwell. When I didn’t dwell, I faked I wasn’t dwelling. I was Custer during his last stand, thinking of what I could have done different. Maybe nothing, maybe fate was on my side? Even if I didn’t know that it had dealt me the proper cards. Maybe I had a winning lottery ticket stashed among my memories. All I needed to do was to find it. Still, I had never even believed it was there, nor do I plan on retrieving it. This, Vogt, was the life you had left. Not a thing to be remembered by. Stop, the phone rang, my incongruous thought process was halted for the moment.

“Hey, you told me to wake your ass up, it’s nine.” Milosz sounded like a little happy jitterbug, it made me feel sick.

“Yeah, I’m up, ready to do my thang.” I answered rather sarcastically.

“Whow! Whose mister grumpy this morning?” Milosz asked in an all to mocking manner.

“Go to hell, I’ll see you at the milk bar in an hour.” I answered while rolling off the bed onto the floor. Milosz agreed, but I didn’t reply with a goodbye, I just looked at the dusty old ceiling. Dusty? How the hell does a ceiling get dusty? I never really checked to see if the bottom of my desk was dusty, because I presumed dust reacted to the laws of physics. Unless dust was lighter than air, which I don’t believe it is. I’m sure my senior year physics teacher would have simply said “static electricity”. Everything that defied the laws of nature was because of static electricity. Electricity that was static held by nothing on something created by something. I knew my definitions all to well. It was more than dusty; it was slightly yellow, even though I could still smell the fresh paint from the outside. I could tell these smoking rooms needed a mere two weeks to get the tint that every smoker knows his lungs have. I wasn’t going to dwell on it. I got up, the room was moving side to side, just like a boat. Yes, it was just another day in paradise.

Sometimes it seems like a year before we move onto another moment. This was one of them. Walking out onto the street I could feel the warm breeze hit my face. I couldn’t tell whether it was the air or the trucks passing by, pushing out blasts of dusty fumes. I whistled for a taxi, and shortly arrived at the milk bar. Milk bars where quickly coming out of fashion in Poland, it used to be everyone’s favorite breakfast place. Now McDonalds and Dunkin’ Donuts took those places. I saw Milosz sitting down and walked up to the table, “I see you had a rough nights sleep?”

“Nothing some soup won’t cure. How’s your American head doin’?”

“My head was born here, not my fault it spent most of its time in the states. Honestly, I think I need another eight hours of sleep.” Milosz nodded with a knowing smile. “So what are your plans for today?” I asked.

“I have a few apartments to show, I should be off by three or four, give me a call on my cell.” I nodded in agreement. We ordered some potato pancakes and ate them in struggling silence.

“So, busy day?” Inquired Milosz, trying to make conversation.

“Maybe.” I answered, fact was I didn’t know what lay ahead for me that day, otherwise I might have answered different.

I walked into the ministers office rather hesitantly, it looked rather imposing. Pictures of Lech Walesa on the wall, I knew this was a Solidarity man. The walls where painted gray, nothing about the building expressed warmth. The desk the receptionist sat at was a metal relic of the soviet era. “May I help you?” she inquired.

“Yes, I have an appointment, my name is Vogt.” I answered. She skimmed through her log, looked up and smiled.

“He’ll be with you shortly”

I sat down in a fake leather chair. I waited for a half hour looking at pictures of famous Poles who had visited the office in the past. I noticed a picture with a friend of mine in the background. I walked up to take a closer look, it was my old friend Pawel, he was smiling behind minister Buzek and some other dignitary. I smiled at the picture, just like Pawel, inserting himself where he wasn’t needed. As I was looking at the picture the minister walked out. “Please come in.” He said with a rather unabliging look.

The talk was rather dry, I explained my purpose. The minister explained some problems dealing with past ownership of government property. I assured him every measure had been taken on our part to make sure other claims had not been taken towards the property. I remembered my conversation with Meldon, he said everything was in the binder. In that binder I found that all of the properties where abandoned and the previous owners where unknowns, or Germans that left after the war. Looking at the properties I couldn’t imagine a lot of people wanting them back. After a half hour of small talk and pointless interchanges on the myriad problems the minister foresaw I realized that I was missing the point of the meeting. The minister kept waiting for something, talking about costs, and all I was doing was answering in formulaic ways, repeating facts from the binder. It finally hit me that I hadn’t offered a bribe yet. I felt rather stupid, like an amateur, bribes are the basic governmental fees that every one has to pay to get something accomplished. I interrupted one of the ministers diatribes and stated “I can give you a deposit for the properties, all I need to know is how much.” The ministers eyes lighted up immediately.

“Well” he answered slowly, “the deposits for these types of transactions are non-refundable”.

I nodded in understanding. “How much?” I asked.

“The standard fee is $2,000 per property,” now the minister looked upon me with hopeful eyes, waiting upon an answer.

“That will be fine” I replied, but in reality I didn’t know what Meldon wanted me to do in this situation, “If you give me the bank account number I will have the funds transferred to you as soon as I can”.

“No, no, I’m sorry, but we only accept cash, banks take huge transfer fees…well, you understand.” That I did, I told the minister that I would be back during the week, as soon as I could get the money transferred from the states. The minister was now delighted, he was more than happy to continue with nonsensical small talk and soon offered to have a driver take me back to the hotel. I understood why, he was going to receive more than his yearly salary in one week. I wondered how much he made every year in unreported earnings, probably a fortune in Polish conditions. I thanked him for the offer to be driven back but decided to have a walk in the city to wake me up.

After calling Meldon and receiving a reply that the money would be in my hands in two days I had some free time on my hands. I decided to ditch plans with Milosz and check out the sights, I walked from the city center, next to the behemoth that was the Palace of Culture all the way to old town. The castle, quite frankly, was a big disappointment, what was the point of rebuilding that? It was a big square palace in reality. It wasn’t a splendid ornamental palace with decorative gates and beautiful moldings like the Hapsburg palace in Vienna, or even the royal palaces in Copenhagen. Why in the world did they move the capital here? Cracow had a beautiful castle, so did Budapest, Prague or any other European capital I could think of. It simply made Warsaw look like it was hard on cash when they built it. Well, that was true, and that’s why this big disappointment stared me in the face. The old town square slapped me out of my malaise, it was picturesque and beautiful. The cobblestone was a refreshing site after remembering Cracows incomprehensible use of communist granite. The three story buildings lined up beautifully with different colors, and roofs of varying heights. The fountain in the middle of the square seemed odd, since it splurged water out of the bottom, instead of spraying it into the air as I was used to seeing. A gypsy woman rocked back and forth on her knees as her child sat crying against a building behind her. A few feet further sat a teenager with ripped jeans, black leather jacket and full grown beard, he was playing his guitar, singing loudly if not melodically, with a sign in front of him which read “Need money for beer”. It looked like he was making out better than the Gypsy woman and child, who was now crying for the past twenty minutes I was in the square. I proceeded to survey the surrounding streets and buildings, finally making my way to a view of the Vistula River that sat behind a roaring six-lane road. I was about to head back until I noticed an oddity; there on the steps curving ahead of me I saw a pair of eyes staring blankly towards my direction. They didn’t avert themselves while I stared back, they merely blinked once every couple of seconds. From behind those eyes suddenly came a voice, “ignoratia juris non excusant” it stated plainly. I stood waiting for my brain to catch up to all of my fathers latin phrases, “ignorance of the law is no excuse, so what?” I asked.

“You’re loitering” came the reply. Aside from the fact that I really did not know the loitering laws of Poland I was intrigued by this voice.

“So are you” I stated, “it’s a free country, right?”

I saw the eyes move from a blank stare to a more hospitable and friendly squint, slowly it began to speak “contrary to what you may think I am not loitering, I am, in fact, conducting a psychological experiment, you on the other hand are doing nothing but loitering.”

“No” I answered quickly this time “ I am conducting my own experiment.”

“Of what nature?” Asked the eyes.

“I’m testing how long it takes the Police here in Poland to arrest someone for loitering. I must say they are slow to respond, I’ve already been here a while, and it looks like I’ll be here a while yet.” I smirked after saying this, I then once again looked over the Vistula, I could see a few fishermen casting their lines. I stared at the few bridges Warsaw had, I saw the myriad of cars passing by, or rather slowly rolling by, as rush hour had set in. Seeing a Jaguar S-type next to one of the tiny Fiats is quite a sight. A few pedestrians made their way around me hastily as they headed to their destinations, but I just stared forwards, finally I decided to look at the eyes again. They where exactly the same way that I first saw them, blankly staring at me. I looked away; I was starting to feel uncomfortable. I glanced back at the eyes, they moved, and slowly made their way up. I could finally see the figure behind those eyes. Frankly I was a bit stunned, the smiling lips where on the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. She had dark, almost black hair that was just about reaching her arms, her skin was the color of caramel while her dark, inquisitive beautiful eyes forced me to stare uncontrollably, she stood about five feet nine inches, and had curves on her body that even a BMW couldn’t handle. She walked up the stairs in perfect posture, her extremely mobile hips made there way towards me, she had black jeans and a tight black t-shirt that looked ready to burst. Then it hit me, I knew her. Adriana had matured since I last saw her; she had grown into a body a man could kill for.

“I’m making a citizens arrest” she stated only a few feet away from me; looking onto the cracked steps to make sure she wouldn’t trip. “You know you’ve absolutely ruine…” she stopped as she looked up and into my eyes. She seemed quite bewildered. “Oh my god! I can’t believe it’s you Clyde!” She jumped and hugged me ecstatically; I returned the favor, how long I had waited for this moment!

I got up out of my f**king bed, I put my pants on, I put my gun on, cause brothers out here is trippin’! Nothing like some good ole’ Bodycount to get me going in the morning.