by Sven Klöepping © 2001

Yeah... the ‘planets’. Fun can begin. My optic gear-change blinks - too speedy, it says, and: I shouldn’t fly the first gear up to three-hundred. No, I shouldn’t. But I can. It makes a good difference. Especially, if you’re up. Good fix. Makes you faster, and more clever. Three-hundred-fifty. The motor will explode! Okay, okay. I’ve got enough senses to know when to stop. No need to panic. Second gear. Still a loud roaring, but not so dangerous. Somewhere a sigh of relieve. As if all the shuttles sourrounding me were sighing. Weakling.

makes you faster, and more clever Not like speed, when you’re totally absent and get nothing. This stuff makes you gone away, I tell you. When you’re ‘up’, you’ve won half of the bet.

Red hovering illuminator. I hate these things. And even more the cops hangin’ around the redlights. Usually I continue to fly, even if it’s red. But we’re in the V.I.P-department. Redlight. Means authorization. From behind I get one of those hyper-cool identity-cards. Only the richest of the rich receive them. It means I’ll have no problem with the fuzz. I’m lucky. The cop hasn’t recognized the strange flash in my eyes. Fly on, he says.

‘...and when you’re up, you’re gonna be so out and full of control...’ The ‘planets’. The best band on earth, I confess. The way they make people get their messages... superb. Doesn’t sound like pseudo-sham. They really know what they’re talkin’ about, believe me, man. Makes one fifty. Collection-bag. How much does this fatso spend for a poor taxi driver? A three-dollar-tip. Hey, thank u man, I’ll recommend you ;-))

The sucker heaves himself out. Drive on. Time’s money.

The motor gives a roar. I see the fatso from the ‘planets’ turnin’ around - stark fear has consumed him on the ride, I can’t believe it. He really thought I’ve never seen him before! He’s famous like a frigid whore, I tell u! He and his band, these shitty ‘planets’. However, it doesn’t matter. As long as my tip’s correct...

Let’s be off. First gear, three-hundred. Three-hundred-fifty. Stop this children’s game! Four-hundred. You may annoy frightened passengers with that, but none of us taxi-drivers. Let the master drive. Five-hundred. Six-hundred. Roaring gears. Yeah, gotta be heaven! Second gear. Wow! That’s pretty cool...

makes you gone away I tell u - this stuff explodes the heavy way. Redlight? Ignore it, man. The fix makes you colourblind. And fuzz won’t do anything, when you’re alone, without a V.I.P. on board. What a staple he was! A real pompous ass. But from those suckers’ pockets you can draw the easy money.

Hold on. There’s a client. One of those idiots again. The smashers’ lead-singer. Unbelievable. They swarm around like busy flies!

Adjusting the counter, opening the door. Where do u wanna to? What? Okay, okay - I turn it off. No problem, man. It’s done. Cool, stay cool. So, where do you wanna fly? ‘rude box’? Okay, but it ain’t a-cheap...

x x x

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