Chapter Fifty: Streets of Amputees, Generations of Lovers

Today was a particularly engaging day of remembrance and of shock therapy as I saw no less than five amputees begging for money my way out of the house.

A hand gone, a leg gone. Head bowed low. “Change, change” they ask for.

I walk past due to the absence of money (like really, I swear) and to hide my shame and the ability of my legs to move.

The same images of Prague and Vienna constantly played out in my head. I remember how the streets were dotted with beggars, not necessarily amputees- some without a shirt on their backs.

Some barely wrapped in clothing that are filled with holes exposing their body to the frigid cold. They bow down in dishonour and in shame (the way I did today), their body curled up and facing the ground.

The vivid image of a man with a piece of handkerchief cloth laid out before him. I couldn’t see his face, he was in a position as if worshipping a king – the common passerby.

On the handkerchief lay a 5 euro dollar note, and a few pieces of coin. He didn’t rock back and forth but stood still.

What I saw that night tore me, it made me enraged that wealth was a privilege, that scarcity existed. I wanted food, I wanted peace, I wanted wealth for everyone to lead a comfortable life.

Another scene involved my generous friend giving just a 50/100 krown to a beggar in a garden. I remember the way his eyes looked up at the friend. They were full of tears, gratitious tears where both melancholy and hope was present. He stood up and hugged my friend, embracing him. He didn’t know how to say thank you, he couldn’t. He hugged him and kissed his feet.

It tore my heart, it tears my heart.

/

Had work, went out with CG had fun sweating and playing around but…I miss TK.

/

I wish the only thing I had to do was to/Hold my arms around you/So long, so hard/Until you’d understand/So long, so hard/ Until you’d understand