#postwall

Door slammed open and car keys on his left hand, Gilbert leaves the house so fast his brain doesn't quite register what happens in between grabbing the keys and driving his car into the night. Another argument, another night driving, which is not the routine he imagined when he moved to Ludwig's West Berlin house. He lets out a heavy sigh, thinking is too soon to decide which of the two was in the wrong—of course he thinks it is Ludwig, however chances are that in the following hours he changes opinion: perhaps he, or both, were being dickheads. It's fine, things will be fine, and then they can argue and do this all over again (it isn't like he has much else to do, or where to go after his apartment...)

He is mad again, so better the gates at the railway level crossing he is stay open or he will—

His Trabi's engine stops in the middle of the tracks before he can complete his destructive thoughts.

"SHIT."

A shudder goes down his spine. Holding his breath, and as yellow lights turn red and the beams behind and in front of him close, he turns the key: ignitions fails. 

"You gotta be kidding me! COME ON!"

He keeps trying, ignoring thoughts about July of 1967, but the engine keeps wheezing like an asthmatic instead of properly starting. There is no time to diagnose the car he had to wait for so long to obtain, and that he took with him from the East to the West, and that he is not going to lose here. Next to him a bird begins chirping anxiously, his pet for the first time showing signs of being with him since being in the car. It pecks the hand he has on the wheel, so Gilbert swats it up without actual intentions to hurt the bird.

"Go away, I got this," he grumbles, opening a window with the crank handle.

The bird leaves at the same time he sees lights moving closer. "Come on, come on, come on," he repeats as he keeps turning the key, his heart thumping hard in his chest.