Herr Puntila und das Riesending in Mitte

F: Well yeah, I might have a drink. Distill my own moonshine, and have a careful sip. Or rather I quit smoking but still have loads of dope and stuff at home, thinking: what am I gonna do with it now, I once made dope butter from it and then, on days when I knew I had nothing to do, I sat in the coffeeshop, staring idly. And when I returned home – and that was just so unreal – I had a proper look at my four-year-old son, and I suddenly realized how little he was.  ‚Cos you treat him differently, you see… like, he has to be punctual, and all the time he seems absolutely stressed out and bugged, and now, completely stoned, I realized just how little he was for the first time. And what I was doing to him all the time. It’s sheer horror! That is… I’m a different sort of horror than your usual horror, though.

Now, I don’t now about rich people, how they make it.

On their yachts, they might have a life, but from where I come, there’s only the imperative to find this thing or that great or cool, and sometimes I even succeed in doing so, but actually… When I’m sober and give it some thought, I realize I’m surrounded by things I didn’t choose.  And come to think of it, I wouldn’t even fancy, if I had the choice. It’s great here, or at home, but I didn’t have much of a choice. I guess there are people who have a few more choices, really. Where is one stuck? Where does one come from? These are class issues. At least for someone like me.