Dear NOKBEW™ – Blog visitors
Journey into Disaster
I proudly present chapter
3.02. Dodung’s bad day
What happens to the leader of the three street-boys?
Sir Sala has just disappeared into the building with a satisfied face when the black SUV from the TV station stops with screeching tires in a cloud of dust. The reporter, the camera operator and the sound man jump out of the car immediately.
Dodung is already at the fence: “Ma’am, you promised me yesterday an interview, please, ma’am. I know so many exciting stories from the street!” Dodung spits in his hands and straightens the non-existent hair, because his head is short sheared. He poses jaggedly and pleads desperately: “Please, ma’am, please, you promised!”
The cameraman snaps at him: “Just piss off! We didn’t come here for you, street dog. Take a look at yourself. You’re such a ugly, stupid glue-sniffer without any future. Your brain is already completely destroyed by rugby-glue. You are really disgusting garbage.”
Suzette Zambrano, the reporter, takes no notice of the cameraman or Dodung and his two friends, the three spindly, pathetic figures. She is busy with lipstick, face powder and hand mirror.
The man for the sound puts on the headphones: “Didn’t you hear it, you little stinking rat, piss off!” He shakes the gate: “Shit, locked!”
Dodung is boiling like a volcano. Suddenly tears run down his face. He explodes and yells hysterically with a cracking voice: “You shit motherfuckers, fuck you! Son of a bitch. You pigs, monkeys!” He kicks the gate in rage and shakes it vigorously. The gate, chains and padlocks rattles noisy. Dodung and his two fellow sufferers howl loudly and accusingly and cover the three media people with all swear words they know. And they know a lot of swear words, the seven boys in the background notice in amazement.
Sir Sala grabs Dodung by the neck, Ma’am Burque grabs Bernie’s arm and the fat security guard lifts up little Necko. The three bitterly howling children are rudely pushed into the house. Sir Sala yells annoyed to the media: “Get out here! Order from the police! No interviews.” He gasps at the security guard: “Protect the gate, no media. Nobody talks to the boys!”
Meanwhile, Ma’am Solano is rowing her arms helplessly in the door of the building. Her forehead is sweaty, her face is frightened and her breathing is frighteningly fast.
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Poor but carefree!