When you are young, and your face is not torn out from the ass life can be quite all right. Oddly it works among men and women, and you have a lot of people around you. That was the case with me also, and I was happy with colleagues and doormen’s friendship was more important than gold. It was a well-known truth that young party sharks are broke now and then. Then the ticket in and out of the bar is a doorman. Despite all this, my man hasn’t smiled at me for days. He still let me in the Pub even though I didn’t always pay him a tip as going out, but the simple chat has disappeared between us.
One night then when my man wasn’t at the door, I asked his co-worker: do you know why the shoe is tight. “He lost 100 hundred marks because of you,” the other porter revealed. “About a fortnight when you came here fully intoxicated, we did bet on you. I said that you are not able to drink the whole stein, and your buddy said, ‘no problem.’ He was wrong, and you have lost your face in his eyes. He’s more disappointed at you than the missing money”, he went on. “I saw this one is hard to fix” I quitted.
One day at the lunchtime I was again on the standing department in the Pub lost in thoughts. In front of me were unfinished beer bottles as people didn’t always have time to drink the whole liquid from the first or the second container1. I was building up the major music scale with the bottles and their contents by adding beer into the cylinders1 when it was necessary and taking it away by drinking as needed. I was about to look for the uncorked bottle for the lowest note when someone struck it in front of my nose. I raised my head and saw a tall man. It was an insulted doorman with a smile.
“All right,” I jutted out.
Written by ©Yelling Rosa
 container = bottle,
 cylinder = bottle
 This story is pure fiction. Any real-life similarities with fictitious events or characters are purely coincidental.