I walk the street towards the supermarket as I notice an elderly woman arguing with a policeman. She is pissed, because the cop’s colleague is prolonging the process by having parked the police car on a bus stop. Intrigued and amused, I approach.
I join the woman and the policeman and mockingly ask her what kind of horrible crime she has committed. She seems open about my inquiry, but the cop is not. He tells me to go away. The authoritative tone of voice triggers anger in me. I am reminded of all the occasions where I just let those fuckers walk over me.
I tell him that he has no business telling me where to go.
He utters some official slang for banning me off the place. Just words, I reply.
His colleague approaches and commands md to go away. I say that I am wherever I want to be.
The first cop, one and a half heads taller than me and – as later turns out – 3 years my junior pushes me back.
I do not hesitate. I push him back against a car and hit him with a fist into his face.
I am thrown to the ground while the white papers of busy reprimanding dance in the wind to join me at the bottom. Just where those official documents belong – in the mud of the street.
I am held down by both guys on top of me. They violently and tad desperately shout Stop moving! Again and again. Just words. I say Activate Kundalini to myself, but the god is not yet my ally. I twist around and manage to hit the second guy in his face two or three times.
A group of bystanders starts commenting: Yeah, yeah, two against one. Fucking cowards. To provoke, I shout Fucking Nazis! Another bystander remarks: I know that type; let him stand up and he will continue the fight!
I likely would.
I keep twisting around on the hard concrete with the weight of two guys rubbing my naked fat stomach against the street. One keeps hysterically yelling Stop moving! He has an annoying voice. I shout back: Stop talking, idiot, your voice is annoying!
Eventually, they manage to handcuff me. A lot of those fuckers has gathered by now. Like a dozen. Where from?
My purse falls to the ground and I tell them to pick it up. They do.
Now I go sit inside the police car. A youngling fondles with my handcuffs. Hurry on, I say, can not be that hard, can it?
The car starts moving. A guy sits next to me. I smile, as I ask him whether I at least hit his colleague well enough. He tells me to watch my words. I tell him that I say whatever I want. He says I am not making myself any friends. I say I do not need that kind of friends.
One asks my name.
I say my name is Johann Sebastian Bach.