The Coconut Bourbon
Saturday morning comes early when Friday had been too good. The sky’s that bright blue you get at dawn, O.C. reruns on German TV, and in the back of my mind I already know the weekend’s finished. I got to bed early so I’m up now. Saturday’s boring me already, which is fine because Friday was good enough to talk about instead.
We had our first real class reunion, almost everyone showed up, and what hit me was realizing I still actually like these people. Not in some obligatory way—we genuinely stay in touch. Some of us party together, others I message on ICQ and SMS, this loose network that formed in school and just never dissolved. We met at Plärrer in Kaufbeuren and wandered into the Pic, but didn’t stay long. Most of us ended up at PM instead.
Before that, André’s sister Ilka and her very drunk friend caught us and asked for a ride back from a festival in Kaufering. That drive became a thing. We pulled over on some field and Melly threw up, which might have been her first time, and Bumsis offered the ancient hangover trick with a grass blade that she completely ignored.
PM was where the night actually lived. That bourbon that tasted like coconut—Ilka noticed it too—and Billy Talent turned up loud. I saw Verena and I saw Koksi differently than I had before. We drank and talked too much and danced or jumped or swayed or whatever you call that motion when you’re drunk. Friday was good.
Saturday killed it. I spent the day in front of ICQ waiting for Rebecca to come online, staring at my phone. We were supposed to meet but it’s not happening. The curse of exes setting in again.
But tonight there’s beer and foosball with Tobi, and I need that right now.