you-can-take-my-phone-wallet-passport-but-steal-this-and-ill-kill-you-119-betsy by richter10


                          YOU! #119 Betsy

                             by Paul North
                            YOU! #119 Betsy
                             by Paul North

                                     Copyright 2013 Paul North
                                        All Rights Reserved

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                              Cover Design by Synne Marie Lovholen

                                  Smashwords Edition March 2013

This book is not a work of fiction. It's all sadly and scarily true. If you've somehow got your name in
                                  here then you probably deserve it.

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                              #119 Betsy

 So after spending the past few days living up to every cliché and acting out every stereotype of a
man scorned after a relationship breakdown, including a complete alcohol fuelled journey into some
teary abyss on the first night, negating personal hygiene and just wandering around my small
apartment in stale boxers, eating trash takeaway food and drinking in my room which I rarely left for
fear of having to mimic some kind of normalcy and face my house mate, I decided that I had to buck
up, quit it with all this self pity and deprecation and leave my house.

 The weather as it had been for the past month was nothing less than beautiful so I opted to pick up
a couple of Sternis and head to the park- Boxi, naturally, taking along Kerouac for a spot of
company. These three things were given- things that I could rely on whatever was going on around
me or inside my head; to distract me, give me a bit of escapism and inspire me. As Jack spoke of his
many journeys and conversations with all the dharma bums he met along the way I couldn't help but
dream and plan for my own future travels and journeys of self discovery.
 The only other plan I had was to pick up Betsy along the way. Well in fact she was very much out
of the way, with me residing in the east not far from my beloved Boxi and Betsy all the way out west
at Hauptbahnhof.

  The last time I had seen her was a little over a week ago and I had neglectfully left her stranded at
the station when I had left to educate a group of naïve German youths about the harsh realities they
might face moving to the UK. I had intended on meeting up with her later that night when I had
finished but it got too late and I got too drunk. So as they say with the best laid plans she got
  Betsy was my bike. And I'm guessing by what was to follow this day that she hadn't forgiven me for
deserting her.

 So I showered, finally, washing away the layers of filth and depression that had grown on me over
the last few days, even tidying my hair somewhat in an attempt to make me look semi decent and
embarked on the arduous journey west to meet her.

 I got controlled on the way, which is top say that I was stopped by a ticket inspector, preceded by
the usual loud cries of, “Fahscheinen, bitte!” though thankfully I had purchased a ticket having been
controlled twice already this month, tickets that were dealt with in the usual way of attributing them
to a former English residence, tearing them up and refusing to ever dream of paying them. Now this
was not out of some anarchistic, anti capitalist spite, well maybe it was, but stemmed more from the
fact that both times I had been caught was as a result of a broken ticket machine, something the
guards did not seem to give a hoot about, so I considered myself blameless and nor did I have the
cash to pay for their mistakes. But it was a close call for had I been caught again today I was also
without any ID on my person so the police would most likely have been involved, a quick check
would have brought my previous tickets to light and also shown me to be living here and not just
some oblivious, ignorant tourist passing through. It would have also meant a free holiday courtesy of
the German government to prison.

 It was a ridiculous fact that over a quarter of the inmates currently residing in Berlin's prison were
fare dodgers- the governments position being that people who were caught out three times in a
certain period of time and had not paid the fines were unlikely to pay a further court imposed fine,
nor would they turn up to serve any community service that were given so they just threw them in
prison. This not only being an over reaction- the punishment far outweighing the crime but a huge
expense for all the taxpayers, far more than the lost revenues. No wonder the western world was in
crisis and suffering a recession with the idiotic ruling parties employing such schemes.
 But I digress, as I often do, for this was not meant to be an essay on the flawed ruling parties but a
piece on me having had my bubble burst and trying desperately to dig myself out of the crater that
had come about as a result of that. So eventually I made it to the station and after leaving scoured all
the posts for a couple of minute before I saw her there in all her glory- pink, somewhat aged, beaten,
battered and bruised, somewhat becoming for me and perfect for my requirements.

 I had always been an opponent of biking around Berlin until recently when she was betrothed upon
me- a gift from ******** and now I was so happy to see her- her being the last remaining woman in
my life. So I went through the ritual of unlocking her various locks and hopped on.

  Before receiving her it had been some years before I had rode a bike and was somewhat rusty and
that old adage about riding a bike was far from true for in my former days I was amateur triathlete
and not one onlooker would have been able to guess that now looking at my antics. So as you can
imagine a fair amount of wobbling and wavering ensued as I negotiated the busy thoroughfares
trying not to fall foul of all the traffic. But I was making headway, gaining more confidence with each
step when suddenly it happened.


 The front tyre had exploded! Thankfully there were no passing cars as I lost all control and almost
came clattering to the floor. Great! Just fucking great! This was all I needed. Just to add insult to
injury and make me wish for a moment that I had just stayed cooped up inside, for a second time that
week a woman had sent me crashing to the floor. I was tempted to just leave her there- a tribute to
all that once was but knew that would be completely disrespectful, it being a gift and all, even it was
from the one who had ripped out my heart before proceeding to throw it on the floor and do a little
tap dance upon it before my very eyes.

 I'm getting too bitter here and also didn't want this to be a piece about ******** especially as she's
undeserving of any animosity for the truth is that the prick that burst my bubble was about six foot,
skinny as hell and went by the name of Paul.

 What is it called when you negate all the blame and lay it at the feet of someone completely
undeserving?- transference. I think that's the one.So I will apologise now for this little slip of mine
and any future ones for I am well aware that I was the perpetrator and instigator of my own demise.
 So there I was, at the side of the road, looking sorry for myself and feeling deflated- Betsy being
the perfect partner and decided to make the best of a bad situation, the weather still being perfect,
and just carry on my journey on foot.

  Of course, I got lost! Well that's not entirely true for I knew exactly where I was but after walking
for sometime in what I perceived to be a straight line, following signs to Frederickshain- that being
my intended destination, I never managed to make it more than five minutes from that god damned
eyesore the Skytower. So after awhile I finally caved in to the fact that I was stuck in some kind of
wanting to walk but getting nowhere purgatory and headed to Alexanderplatz to jump on a train, the
silver lining at the end of that concrete cloud being that I would get to where I wanted in next to no
time and finally me and Kerouac would have a much awaited tête-à-tête. Him mind and having
recently read the mystic three- Nirmanakaya, Sambhogakayan and Dharmakaya, I really didn't want
the third and final misery to befall me this week to be a prison sentence so again had to fork out for
train tickets- this time not only for me but also for my invalid bike. As luck would have it the first
two machines I tried didn't work, either that or they didn't want to take my money but knowing that
machines being faulty does not wash as an excuse for not having a ticket I persevered and spent
another quarter of an hour wandering from automat to automat until me and Betsy were both legally
entitled to travel.
  All that hassle and not a controller in site, but who knows, everything happens for a reason and had
I given up at the first hurdle and entered without tickets I may not have been able to write this now.
  So we made it and I bade Betsy farewell for I knew I was leaving in a few days for what could be a
few weeks to a few months and we were not likely to meet again before I'd tracked down a new tyre.
  And now here I am finally, in ye olde park of Boxi, pen in one hand, beer in the other, tired from my
arduous travels, as yet to delve into my bag and reignite my relationship with my aforementioned
friend but so full of hope because after what seems like an eternity this is the first occasion in such a
long time That I've been able to write like this. It may be poorly written, the content somewhat
boring but for me it's such a delight- to get back to what I once was and be able to write so freely
and at length.

 See depression does have it's perks.

 Next chapter: How I put a gun to someone's face, shot myself in the ass and destroyed an amazing
potential relationship.
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