Contents page 1 — “From sona beautiful woman ick ma jerne torture” page 2 — Fritz let’s parents circus performers were On a page
In the Berlin housing estate Marzahn read, there is an attraction, which annually attracts around 1,500 visitors: the Skywalk, a special construction made of metal.
One drives with the Elevator from the ground floor to the top of the, the 21., Floor of the double high house in the Raoul-Wallenberg-Strasse 40/42, go up levels, leaving the huge tower to climb further now, free-floating grid levels windswept heights, and to look at the own feet and over in depth. A head for heights is an advantage. At the very top on the roof arrived, you reach a viewing platform. From 70 meters in height has a magnificent view on the Marzahner Promenade, about of tree crowns by the foamed High-rise, all over the city to the television tower, up to the Müggelsee lake, to the airport Schönefeld. Under the sky, the clouds, the grass, the Brandenburg-Wide cover. I was once up there on the Skywalk, in the Raoul-Wallenberg-Strasse 40/42, and let the Wind blow in your face.
In that high house, on the roof of the Skywalk for a walk, lives Fritz.
Fritz our Studio for the first Time entered, he was 65 years old and Recently retired. I was 45 years old and had started a few months ago to work as a podiatrist. Fritz came, because his wife had sent him. He wore Jeans and sneakers, looked younger, not as a pensioner. He was shy and he was charming, he smelled good and he apologized explicitly and seriously to his feet. Fritz thought they were a disgrace. He expected to be because of them immediately sent back home. I fell in love with you.
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Fritz’s feet are shaped, almost antique beauty: captivate stable, the heels vaulted round and firm, the Longitudinal classically curved. Under the skin, which remains also in the Winter, slightly tanned, Flex toes, the Tendons of the foot, over the wide forefoot into muscular. Feet, where a safe passage. Feet, where a strength lies dormant. Intact, decent feet.
But the nails were thickened, and some dark yellow as swollen lens, the other of brittle layered White, frayed prior to the drought. Wood, nails, even tower nails they are called, I had learned in the training. With the toe nails Fritz was, and though he was effortlessly long finish; the native tools did not work.
Fritz had acquired the thickened, porous toe nails in with a heavy, clunky work shoes with steel caps. He was a trained skilled workers for Plaste and Elaste. To GDR-times, he worked in Lichtenberg, in one operation, the fishing tendons, flower boxes, egg cups produced. After the turn, as Fritz dawned that his operation would probably close soon, walked he through West-Berlin, discovered a company for granule production, applied, was taken. There, in Reinickendorf, spent the Fritz the second half of his working life, in work shoes and suit, with ear and face protection. In the production hall of the boiler, through huge hoses and pipes, the accessories were headed for the granules, up to 130 degrees Celsius, heated and mixed. It was hot, it’s brutal production processes, roaring workers was loud. A tiny error happened to the granules in seconds merged and hardened to a stone-rigid mass. Plastic, preserved for eternity. An Eight-hour shift was not enough to destroy the cooled mass with a jackhammer and remove it from the bottom of the boiler.
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