Stile Maus Read Free

station, his face hot from the humidity.  When he stepped onto platform six, his train sat waiting, a long yellow vessel, ready for takeoff.  Hansel followed his ticket to a seat beside the window and crammed his overnight bag into the overhead compartment, but not before taking out a pen and notepad.  Over the course of the journey he penned at the lined pages, filling them with thoughts, random words and lazy sketches.  The wide windows became black before long and Hansel hid a yawn, pondering the effortless respite of sleep that could, at any moment, follow. 
    Why couldn’t he just write?  Was he trying too hard?  Hansel had hoped that his writers block may have disintegrated within the gloom of the tunnel, although as Paris flashed by in a colourful blur, he realised that the wall was higher than ever.
     
    Cabs lurked on the curbs of the main entrance, windows half wound, eager eyes watching the procession of quick feet spilling from the platform.  Hansel climbed into the closest and checked his pocket for the address of the inn, relaying it to the driver word for word.  From his jacket pocket he took out his mobile and brushed a thumb over the power button until it flickered to life.  Two small envelopes blossomed at the corner of the screen and at first glimpse he smiled...
     
    Mila: I love you.  Have a safe flight x
     
    Mila: You’ve left your camera behind...
     
    ...And then grimaced.  The camera, he thought.  Typical.  Biting his frustration, Hansel leaned forwards and tapped at the driver’s seat,
    ‘I don’t suppose you know where I can get a decent camera around here do you?’
    Smirking at Hansel’s weak attempt to speak a mixture of French, English and German the driver nodded and turned at a set of lights, heading down a road that was humming with shoppers and lined in tall, pristine trees.  The cab came to a stop just outside a store with televisions and cameras and other electronic devices displayed neatly in the window and Hansel climbed out from the backseat with a grunt, catching a mere glimpse of the dangling price tags.  
    ‘You know what,’ Hansel said, ‘the inn isn’t far from here.  I think I’ll walk the rest of the way.’  The driver snatched Hansel’s offered fare and wished him a nice day before speeding off into the distance.  If Hansel had it right the inn was only about a ten minute walk away, the stadium even closer.  Seven hours until kick off.  He figured he would sort out the business with the camera (the bill being sent directly to Weber’s office) and then check in at the hotel, take a shower, lounge around for a while and then leave an hour or two before the two teams clashed.  The shop was cold and a young girl looked up jadedly as Hansel entered.  Aside from the sparkle of a hundred television screens the shop appeared dull and empty and Hansel studied the wall of cameras with intent.  His hands found one, a square instrument bordered with silver dashes and cool blue buttons.  It didn’t match the tall and slender scope of his Nikon back home but it would do.  And he paid for it, pinching at the card reader with the image of Weber’s scowling face stuck inside his mind.  He gave it a little more thought as the receipt was swiped away from the trundle of the till and found that, for once, he might enjoy Weber’s rage.  Bundling the new camera into his overnight bag, Hansel took to the streets of Paris and did his best to banish the treacherous beginning of his journey.  Knowing not, that everything was about to change.    
     
    The inn was tucked into a back street, away from the bustle of the city.  It wasn’t overly spacious or glamorous but it had a cosy quality that wasn’t hard to appreciate.  Hansel settled into his room subsequent to a brief check in and stood at the window, looking out across a hillock of garden terraces.  He took a lengthy shower, entirely aware of the boredom that awaited him.  It wasn’t his first