Sorry Read Free Page B

that’s recycled over and over.
Journalism today
, Kris thinks, really wanting to set the whole pile on fire. When the doors open again, he steps out of the elevator and leaves the bags on the floor. At almost the same time they tip sideways with a sigh, then the elevator doors close, and it’s over.
    Kris steps onto the pavement and takes a deep breath.
    We’re in Berlin, we’re on Gneisenaustrasse. The World Cup has been over for nine weeks, and it’s as if it never happened. Kris doesn’t want that to happen to him. He’s in his late twenties and after twelve months in a steady job he’s unemployed again. He has no interest in looking for another job, and neither does he want to switch, like hundreds of thousands of others, from one internship to the next, getting by on starvation wages and hoping someone takes him on sooner or later. No. And he doesn’t want to work as a trainee, either, because he’s had training and he’s been through university. His attitudes are at odds with the job market—he’s bad at begging and far too arrogant for small jobs. But Kris doesn’t plan to despair. He won’t end up with his head in the oven, no one will be aware of his problems. Kris is an optimist, and there are only two things he can’t stand: lying and unfairness. Today he is aware of both, and his mood matches the fact. If Kris Marrer knew now that hehas been moving toward a new goal since waking up, he would change his attitude. You’d be able to see him smile. But as he is unsuspecting, he curses the day and sets off for the subway. He wonders how to straighten a world in which everyone’s used to standing crooked.
TAMARA
    J UST AS K RIS IS leaving the editorial office, Tamara Berger is sitting up in bed with a start. The ceiling is just a few inches away from her head, and Tamara knows she will never get used to it. Like waking up in a coffin. She falls back into the pillows and thinks about the dream that is echoing around in her head. A man asked her if she had made her decision. Tamara couldn’t see his face, she could just see the tensed sinews at his throat. So she tried to walk around the man, but his head kept turning away from her until hairline cracks formed at his neck that made Tamara think of dried-out earth. Finally she laid a hand on the man’s head so that he couldn’t turn away any more. She walked around the man and woke up.
    We are in Berlin South, two streets away from Steglitz Town Hall. The room looks out onto a courtyard to the rear, the curtains are drawn, and a wasp is flying tirelessly against the windowpane. Tamara doesn’t know how the wasp got through the sealed window. The alarm clock shows 11:19. Tamara doesn’t believe it and holds the alarm clock right in front of her eyes before she gets cursing out of the bunk and puts on last night’s clothes. A minute later she dashes from the apartment as if the house were in flames.
    You’ll now be wondering why we are spending any time on a woman who can’t even manage to wash her face or put on fresh clothes after she wakes up. Tamara asks herself the same question as she looks at her face in a reflection on the subway. When she got home at four this morning she was far too tired to take her makeup off. The running mascara left dark traces under her eyes. Her hair is straggly, her blouse crumpled and open one button too far, clearly revealing her cleavage.
I look like a tramp
, Tamara thinks and buries her face in her hands. Without a word, the man diagonally opposite hands her a tissue. Tamara says thank you and blows her nose. She wishes she had slept through the whole day.
    Even though it’s hard for you at the moment, you have to believe thatTamara Berger is an important element in this story. One day you will sit opposite her and ask her whether she’s made her decision. Without her we’d have to part now.
    The job center is closed. Tamara gives the door a halfhearted kick and walks to the nearest bakery. She eats a