Aga8

III.

The building's administrator, whom the residents were seeing for the first time, appeared unexpectedly. A quick exchange of words followed. The building was too old, it was due for demolition. He stood there for a moment. He was surprised by the expressions of indifference on the residents' faces. They were losing their home. Yes, they were losing their home, but did he understand it? Did he understand these people's feelings if he told them so calmly? Indifferent to everything. More people found themselves on the street. That was simply his job, to throw people out. That's what they were paid for. He had become immune to all the requests, to all the bribes. He was just a human being. He behaved simply like a human being... Like any other human being. He didn't give a damn about others. He didn't know the word "feelings." Like any other human being. Oh, humanity is a wonderful thing. When he left, it was time for tears. A mother with six children, a war veteran, and Aga. Without a roof over her head. Without a piece of floor to her name. Reality. The grim reality of the city. It had to be this way. Another thing that simply had to be accepted. She didn't break down. Not her. The children were crying. The mother was hastily packing her meager belongings. It wasn't much. Better than nothing. That's what they said when she asked for help. Now they'd say she at least had something to clothe the children in. Reality! Under a bridge. But Reality.

The veteran sat on a bench in front of the house. An old, sick man. Pain, a whole sea of ​​pain, was visible in his glassy eyes. He had nothing left. A cruel fate had taken everything from him, his loved ones, his family, his money, even his honor. Everything he had was taken from him. All he had left was the street. And a piece of heaven. That was all he could own. He fought for freedom. For his homeland. For now, they would kick him out of his home. He fought, he gave his own blood. He walked with a rifle on his shoulder. He crawled. He listened to the roar of grenades. A hero. In return, he received a piece of heaven... He took a small shopping bag. He left. No one knew him anymore. Only a few months later, the news appeared on the front pages of newspapers that an elderly man's body had been found in a basement. Yes, it was a good story. Someone had died. But did it matter why? The important thing was that he had died, died in a basement, and no one knew him. A great story. A front-page story. They paid quite well for a story like that... Reality!

And Aga? Shock. Surprise. Her mother hadn't been home for several months. One day she'd come. She'd find nothing. She'd have no home. She'd have no daughter. The daughter had been motherless for a long time. A small loss. There would always be a joint. That was Aga. There would be a man and a bottle of Rye. That was the mother. Just a moment of surprise. She knew it. She'd seen how others coped. Most of them didn't have a home at all, or they had one they weren't wanted in, or one they didn't want to return to. A whole range of available homes, and reasons for not being there. They coped on their own. They were their own mother, their own father, they gave their own orders, they gave their own prohibitions. Only sometimes a breakdown would come. Then there would be a double share. And everything was fine again. A high. Forgetfulness. And so it went, over and over again... A breakdown, a sharper twist, oblivion... A breakdown, a sharper twist, oblivion... A breakdown, a sharper twist, oblivion... Sad? No... Reality!

She didn't have many of her own things. What belonged to her and what might be useful to her fit in her backpack. Except that packing the backpack was the easiest thing. What terrified her was the fork in the road she stood at. She was aware that the decision she made now would determine her adult life. Her mother had also decided once. For her. And now she would live. Thanks to her. Thank you, Mommy! For your sacrifice and upbringing. Because adulthood was fast approaching. She was afraid. She was alone. There was no one to offer her a hand, to guide her along the familiar paths of adults. She couldn't count on her mother's good advice or her father's help. Everything was different. Nothing was normal. Normal was family and Sunday dinner. She had a family too, just a slightly stoned family. And on Sundays, she had beer, cold, straight from the fridge, drank against the wall.