Agreement with the Enemy - Players' dungeon (11.)

We were like one big family. Our whole entrance. At least for the first two years. The kids were almost all the same age, so no one really cared who they were with. One time they were with us, the next time they were upstairs. The drying room was the perfect common room.

Frying pots and microwaves were the hit of the time. We all went on a French fry orgy for a while. I made a bowl of tartar sauce with capers, someone else cut up potatoes, and then we just fried and devoured. Such an idyllic time of bonding and helping each other.

There was such a relaxed atmosphere in the whole society because of the recently acquired freedom. We felt we could do anything. It was a heady feeling. Today, I would say dangerous. But nobody realized that at the time. We had this carefree sense of the wide range of possibilities. It was just a long way to the pub, although quite a few were in the area. It's a good thing he wasn't lazy and always found it in himself to be strong enough.

First, he discovered a little neighborhood pub near the underground. They played pool and "eye"—sometimes all day long and late into the night or morning. Those who needed a rest would nap on the chairs and continue.

Our housing estate was not quite finished at that time. Especially the landscaping in some parts was practically non-existent. The road to the players' den was not easy and had many pitfalls. To speed up, he rode a bicycle. There in the morning and back in the morning. He had to ride over a bumpy, sloping, but mostly muddy stretch over a bridge around a pond to a neighboring housing estate. It was fairly easy going down, but on the way back he had to push hard to pick up speed on a fairly steep climb through less-than-ideal terrain. It was only a matter of time before there was some sort of trouble.

He set off one morning like this, and as he returned home with the morning drizzle, he hit the pedals out of habit. As much as he could. Unfortunately, he had no idea that during the day construction had begun on the steps leading to the bridge, and that a deep trench had been dug in the hillside. Inertia had done its work. As they say, the road rose... and he roared into it. Full steam ahead. He arrived home covered in mud, blood, and bruises. The mud was literally falling off him. At least he rinsed the bike in the pond.

Drunks get lucky in situations like this. They're totally rubbery, so when he got home, he looked very impressive, but basically he was fine. I'll never forget his face, though.
I felt a beautifully mischievous yet quiet satisfaction at that moment.

9. I am sorry - The first years in the new apartment were quite nice. I was still able to laugh at a lot of your drunken adventures. Only time proved that being together wasn't such a good idea. I felt it inside, but I couldn't say it or leave you. We could have avoided a lot of things and just been friends. Good friends.