peter_1

By the same author:

Peter 2
Peter 3
Peter 4
Peter 5
Peter 6
Peter 7

"Made it," Peter thought when the doors of the IC 505 closed behind him with the typical „ beep...beep...beep –rutchong„-sound. His heart pounded like the hooves of a race horse just about to reach its goal. Peter felt a cutting pain in the flesh of his left palm. His hand still clutching the drum tightly ...` he'd almost lost it – my god – he'd almost lost it!´ ... like a jockey´s hands might hold tight to the bridles of his winning horse Peter had held on to his bodhran.

A lady with her suitcase only slightly older than he resolutely pushed herself past him on the narrow gangway. He didn`t even have to look at her. The rhythmical sound of her vigouros steps were enough to remind Peter of ANGELA. „You are welcome," he mumbled, still breathless, to the back of the chequered costume, and there was only a hint of sarcasm in his dark voice.

Finding it difficult to open the compartment doors with only the weight of his body pushing against them, Peter put down his fine sand-coloured LEATHER TRAVELLING-BAG and bedded his bodhran on a wet „DIE ZEIT„ newspaper which he had thrown on top of it.

Would he ever find a seat???