OOC: Since I am just too much of a bore to think of interesting news items and so forth, I've decided to, as a replacement of sorts, to write a series of short stories which detail life and happenings from a strictly 'character' fashion... A short introduction: it's about a man (Roger) and his wife (Leanore) who own a small 24 hour cornershop with laundrette in downtown Danzig. His marriage is a mess, doesn't like his life and is a closet alcoholic. There's not much going on as a whole, but news items that would normally go to my newsthread are posted here with infrequency.
What began as a sunny morning, early morning mist in the city parks and birds whistling their song as morning rush hour took hold of the city with people scrambling in public transportation, taxis and cars to whatever destination, slowly began to change in a dull grey sky and flimsy drops of rain tapped the windows of the skyskrapers and other grand buildings downtown. Gradually decending from the rooftops, the rooftopgardens, high restaurants, cigarbars, clubs and discos, lowering to streetlevel. Where life is actually happening, where jewish merchants peddle precious gems and diamonds in Beth Yisrael Street, the heartland of the yiddish community in the city. Going slightly south, south of 10th Lane Junction a red light district emerges with several sleazy stripclubs, bars, "wank parlors" and 50 cent booths. In the middle of this district, Leichhardt Square, is a park situated called Leichhardt Heath. On the northside of Leichhardt Heath is Coalport Station, a police station and provides much-needed security for this once crime-ridden area of the city. Coalport Station resides in a former warehouse building which was used to store coal for steamships.
If you stand on the small grassy hill surrounded by flowerbeds, near the bronze statue of Hugo Pflantzer on horseback and look towards the subway station you can see a small corner shop behind the trees, with bright yellow and red sign in neon letters on the front, saying 'Open 24 Hours'. It was a typical shop for any red light district and it sold a variety of condoms, lubricants in an 18+ section which was frequented by the usual crowd; dirty old men, angsty teenagers, prostitutes and other people of low social aptitude. Aside from this, the store offered your twenty-four hour food needs, plenty of alcoholic beverages ranging from cheap beer and whisky to the finest wine and brandy locked in a cabinet. Behind the counter with cashregister a vast array of cigarettes and other tobacco articles were on display. Out in the back several washing and drying machines are located and is also part of the small business. People serve themselves here and the laundrette proves a nice little bonus as an addition to his regular income.
The owner of this shop, Roger, stood there from 7 till 7, dusk till dawn, practically his whole life. He inherited this shop from his father and lacking savings to head out to college, he was stuck here which was, back then, not going to be his whole life. It turned out to be the opposite of his original plans and a turn for the worst occurred when he married - not his beloved highschool sweetheart - but a random `broad' (as he called it) who goes by the name Leanore. She works only weekends and at night an old friend works there. He's a reliable person and Roger is very content with his presence. You could say they're friends for life and both are turning over a modest profit each year with the shop and laundrette. While the surface is glare and flat as a mirror, underneath no one would ever notice. Today, Sunday November 15th in the year 2009, where we are today, Roger was watching a television show and as a custom, Sundays are slow. The television hung from the ceiling and produced an echo-ish metallic sound and visuals were grainy. Still, Roger wasn't going to bother purchasing a new one. Behind him, on a small counter featuring cigars and pipe tobacco a radio played 1980s music on low volume.
An average television show always included sexy women who, not with infrequency, would strip to their panties to capture their audiences undivided attention. This show would prove to be no exception, with not-so-subtle rubbing, squeezing and pinching and, how cliche, eating and sucking a banana. Just the looks were enough to satisfy the average viewer since there was no subject. Random chatter and a few mildy humorous gags were plenty to get it going. Roger's face was resting on his left hand while he was tapping off ash from his cigarette in an ashtray next to the cashregister. He served a handful of customers today and occassionally housewives came in with garbage bags full of laundry through the side entrance. Once in a while he gazed at the CCTV screen, checking if people were behaving or weren't vandalizing his property. Everything seems to be in order and he continued watching the show. After a deep draw from the cigarette, he calmly exhaled through his nostriles in two seperate jets. He stretched his shoulders and grabbed a small hip flask of polished steel, screwed off the lid and took a firm sip. ``God and it's only 10 past 4... Still got three hours to go...'', he thought and went back at waiting for clientele and watching television. Tomorrow would be a good day, busy with paying customers. But Sundays... Skip Sunday.
*****
What began as a sunny morning, early morning mist in the city parks and birds whistling their song as morning rush hour took hold of the city with people scrambling in public transportation, taxis and cars to whatever destination, slowly began to change in a dull grey sky and flimsy drops of rain tapped the windows of the skyskrapers and other grand buildings downtown. Gradually decending from the rooftops, the rooftopgardens, high restaurants, cigarbars, clubs and discos, lowering to streetlevel. Where life is actually happening, where jewish merchants peddle precious gems and diamonds in Beth Yisrael Street, the heartland of the yiddish community in the city. Going slightly south, south of 10th Lane Junction a red light district emerges with several sleazy stripclubs, bars, "wank parlors" and 50 cent booths. In the middle of this district, Leichhardt Square, is a park situated called Leichhardt Heath. On the northside of Leichhardt Heath is Coalport Station, a police station and provides much-needed security for this once crime-ridden area of the city. Coalport Station resides in a former warehouse building which was used to store coal for steamships.
If you stand on the small grassy hill surrounded by flowerbeds, near the bronze statue of Hugo Pflantzer on horseback and look towards the subway station you can see a small corner shop behind the trees, with bright yellow and red sign in neon letters on the front, saying 'Open 24 Hours'. It was a typical shop for any red light district and it sold a variety of condoms, lubricants in an 18+ section which was frequented by the usual crowd; dirty old men, angsty teenagers, prostitutes and other people of low social aptitude. Aside from this, the store offered your twenty-four hour food needs, plenty of alcoholic beverages ranging from cheap beer and whisky to the finest wine and brandy locked in a cabinet. Behind the counter with cashregister a vast array of cigarettes and other tobacco articles were on display. Out in the back several washing and drying machines are located and is also part of the small business. People serve themselves here and the laundrette proves a nice little bonus as an addition to his regular income.
The owner of this shop, Roger, stood there from 7 till 7, dusk till dawn, practically his whole life. He inherited this shop from his father and lacking savings to head out to college, he was stuck here which was, back then, not going to be his whole life. It turned out to be the opposite of his original plans and a turn for the worst occurred when he married - not his beloved highschool sweetheart - but a random `broad' (as he called it) who goes by the name Leanore. She works only weekends and at night an old friend works there. He's a reliable person and Roger is very content with his presence. You could say they're friends for life and both are turning over a modest profit each year with the shop and laundrette. While the surface is glare and flat as a mirror, underneath no one would ever notice. Today, Sunday November 15th in the year 2009, where we are today, Roger was watching a television show and as a custom, Sundays are slow. The television hung from the ceiling and produced an echo-ish metallic sound and visuals were grainy. Still, Roger wasn't going to bother purchasing a new one. Behind him, on a small counter featuring cigars and pipe tobacco a radio played 1980s music on low volume.
An average television show always included sexy women who, not with infrequency, would strip to their panties to capture their audiences undivided attention. This show would prove to be no exception, with not-so-subtle rubbing, squeezing and pinching and, how cliche, eating and sucking a banana. Just the looks were enough to satisfy the average viewer since there was no subject. Random chatter and a few mildy humorous gags were plenty to get it going. Roger's face was resting on his left hand while he was tapping off ash from his cigarette in an ashtray next to the cashregister. He served a handful of customers today and occassionally housewives came in with garbage bags full of laundry through the side entrance. Once in a while he gazed at the CCTV screen, checking if people were behaving or weren't vandalizing his property. Everything seems to be in order and he continued watching the show. After a deep draw from the cigarette, he calmly exhaled through his nostriles in two seperate jets. He stretched his shoulders and grabbed a small hip flask of polished steel, screwed off the lid and took a firm sip. ``God and it's only 10 past 4... Still got three hours to go...'', he thought and went back at waiting for clientele and watching television. Tomorrow would be a good day, busy with paying customers. But Sundays... Skip Sunday.