An elderly man enjoys the sun with a cup of coffee in the care hotel, until an old woman with a look of recognition on her face joins him at his table in her wheelchair

With a broad smile she asks how he's doing. He looks at her with raised eyebrows and with a grumpy face says, "I'm horny".

Completely taken aback Mrs. Turns around and rolls away.

The waitress who has overheard it all, asks the man in amazement why he was acting so weird.

The old man looks at her and replies quietly: "When I last asked her how she was doing I had to listen to her full medical records for over two hours.

I'm in a crowded 747. Babies scream and a withered stewardess gives me a fabricated smile. I have to leave here. One in three people have a fear of flying, but my fears go beyond acrophobia, claustrophobia and wannabe Mohammed Atta that wants to drill my aeroplane into a tourist attraction.

Dear Mr. suicide bomber. I think the Little Mermaid in the Copenhagen harbor is a particularly overvalued artwork and she does indeed need to put a top on. She symbolizes the demise of the once chaste Western woman. That legless fishwife sitting there on that rock, waiting for her benefits and drunken sailors who repeatedly headbutt their eels against her uvula for fifty Danish crowns. Drill this aircraft into her bare breasts and go down in history as the mastermind behind WTC II, also known as WTCmermaid.

My fear of flying is largely based on the fact that I dont rate humankind highly. People gave Justin Bieber a record deal, people slam three billion euros in the build of a new train station and thus the most beautiful city in the Netherlands is more butchered than Mohammed Ali after shaving.

People still do that stupid Miss World contest, a prize which, incidentally, always goes to a babe in a backwards country. "Hey people of Venezuela. You sniff glue and can not read, but you do have the most beautiful woman in the world. Now party, chat up your niece, go out into the streets and forget for a moment that you are a poor scoundrel with no front teeth, "according to the Miss World organization.

Everybody makes mistakes. Pilots also make mistakes and afterwards blame it on turbulence. Turbulence does not even exist, it is just another word for: I'm not paying attention because the hostess  is currently  orally satisfying me.
Or afterwards they say that the plane crashed because someone was busy writing a story on a laptop during take-off. ahh well .What I want to say is that everyone makes mistakes. People make mistakes and mistakes make people.

My girlfriend wanted to try all this Airbnb shenanigans sometime,  I had my doubts . The clammy buttocks of an unknown on our toilet seat ? The urine of a stranger softly clattering against our shower drain ? Two Canadian tourists recklessly fucking on the kitchen table where our son normally draws or playdohs non-existent animals? I thought it was all a bit much, but yeah, behind every strong woman is a very flexible man .

The month of August was fully booked  within a week. " But where are we going to stay? " I asked.

"We're going to Delfzijl for a month. To my mother." my girlfriend replied.

Delfzijl , it is a place name that suggests any kind of progress, however Delfzijl remains in 1984 forever. When you drive towards it , you can already see the flats. These architectural STDs full of rusty suicide balconies.

The flats in Chernobyl pity the flats in Delfzijl . On the eighteenth floor a German is smoking a rollie. He looks at the sea, the sea looks back at him. The sea is trying to turn around , it does not want to see this, but reversing itself is not working.

Less than two hours later, the balcony - German is walking into the sea. A beer belly hangs over his genitals as a cup made of bacon. The man urinates his bladder empty into the water. Schultenbrau beer and sausage moisture.

The sea wants revenge . A three meter high wave roars on the balcony - German and swallows him. The man gasps for air. His life flashes by in front of his eyes.
Schultenbrau beer and sausage moisture.
He comes up again.

I look at him from the boulevard. The man wipes his wet hair over the bald part of his skull and walks out of the sea defeated. The balcony - German waves to the fish truck . The fish truck stops. He orders four servings of fish and chips.

Seagulls screech blame. A palm tree asks me if I can put him out of his misery. He doesnt belong here, he says. He feels like a Brazilian dancer in a mormon town.

The wind blows hard, but everything remains in place, so the wind just does not blow not hard enough. The owner of an all-you-can-eatrestaurant places a sign on the sidewalk. Something about schnitzels and cocktails.

My son is looking for shells that he can give to his mother. I stand beside him and look at the sky. The sky is full of kites. I do not like kiters. I always hope that the string breaks and the kite can escape.

I look at the sea, but what is the sea looking at? The tourists have sea views, but what is the sea overlooking? A complete and utter lack of pizzazz. A seaside resort that is a faulty hourglass. Palm trees with homesickness and flats secretly hoping for a tsunami. Delfzijl. The place that taught me that humans are much crueler than mother nature. And that we should maybe be a little proud of that.

an old man sits on a bench in the woods. He stares into the distance, but really the guy is just looking back. Next to him is a branch that has been promoted to walking stick. Two gray eyebrows come together on top of a nose that is full of red veins. "You are allowed to sit next to me, you know, but I have made my decision," the old man says.
         "What decision?"
    "I do not want to live anymore"
          "Are you therefore wearing winter clothing during a heat wave?"
  "Yes, I thought it might dehydrate me faster"
          "Are you in a lot of pain?"
    "No, I have no pain. People with pain always whine about the fact that they are in pain pain, but I nag just because I have no pain. I have a right to have pain. My pain. Pain is a human right."
          "How old are you"
    "91. My body is still working and my head is still fine. You know how inhuman that is. Old with a functioning brain.  Forty years ago I had everything. Absolutely everything, but I mainly had the most beautiful girl the world. People your age would now show a picture on the screen of their phones, but I have no phone. I have no one to call."
           "Describe her to me with words instead"
 "My wife worked in a pastry shop. When she stood in front of my door I could smell her. She never needed to ring the bell. Waffles , whipped puffs and cream slices, I found it a real shame every time she took a shower. She had dark brown curls to her tailbone . A cape of dark chocolate. And those eyes. Green like pistachio ice cream. she was so beautiful. Actually she was far too pretty for me, but back then she let me float on clouds.Then she died. Are you someone who thinks that time heals all wounds? "
          "No, I'm one of those who keeps scratching the wounds open"
"Thank god. Time does not heal anything. I still miss my wife each day. For twenty years. That's more than seven thousand days. I still smell her hairbrush every day. Sometimes I spray her perfume on my pillow before i go to bed and I just wake up with an erection."

"I'm 91. And now I long for death as much as I desire her. Once my nephew was on his deathbed, when I  asked what he had wanted to become he said "Gray".  I'm gray now and I wish i was him.
          "Athletes often say that the race is the most beautiful when you can see the finish line. Is life even at its            best when you can see the death?"
"No life is best when everything fits. Do you understand? Life was custom made for me, and yet it eventually has become unbearable. Life is best when you get the giggles  together in a hotel room in South Africa . life is best when you can still make memories. Life is best when you are not dead yet.

She can not stand it when I stare at her, but I can not help it. Sometimes I'm afraid she will disappear if I blink with my eyes for just a moment. Occasionally I'm even a little jealous of her cat, as she picks it up and walks with him around the house in circles. I don`t want to share her with anyone, but she really is too good to keep a secret. If only people knew.

She's a girl when she wants to prove she`s right, a woman as she flirts with me. She can give me the feeling that I am the most beautiful man on earth, which is secretly a little crazy. If she is in the shower, the bathroom door is never locked. That's not an invitation, she's just not aware of it. So she does not even know I sometimes listen to how she sings. Because she sings. Oh, and the way she dances. If only people knew.

She makes it easy when it starts to get tough. She teases. She sticks a finger in my ear when I'm reading. She tickles me. She puts her arms very tight around me as I try to cook and she can kiss me full on my mouth when I'm concentrating on something. She knows I love it, even though i might pretend i don`t. My quasi-anger and her acted innocence go extremely well together. If only people knew.

She lifts me up. We take small steps and making everything a huge adventure. When she smiles, she really laughs. Her small kisses are not kisses, but soft little pillows against my lips. And of course, she's gorgeous, but not everyone gets to see how beautiful she really is. I`m so lucky. I love her. Not only because of who she is, but also especially for whom she makes me when I'm with her.
It`s about time people know.

Ruby`s sister sat back, briefly playing with a pen.
"Do not say anything to Mom and now leave my room, because I have to do more homework."
Twenty minutes later, She heard her father coming back. He slammed the front door shut. Ruby came out of her room.

'Where were you? She asked.
"None of your fucking business," he replied.
"You should not throw my stuff around."
She stood up and repeated her question:
'Where were you?!'
Her father turned around.
"You're not going to prom, you should never again throw things around in this house."
"And you should not cheat!" Ruby wanted to shout, but the words got stuck in her throat. Instead, she started to cry again."I hate you! I hate you! "Ruby screamed and ran to her room.

On the corridor she bumped into her mother, who had just come home. "What's all going on here ?!" she asked, surprised."I hate him!" She cried into her shoulder.Her sister also came out of her room again. Silently, She looked at Ruby first and then at her father with an icy stare. "Ruby is just a bit being a bit emotional in her puberty, arent`t you Ruby?" She said quietly.
Her father was now looking at her and then at Ruby, you could see him thinking, worrying.
"I really do not know what happened to that child, 'her father said.
"Really, what has happened?" Her mother asked.
"Nothing. There is nothing wrong. She's just in puberty, "Her sister repeated again and she dragged Ruby by her hand along to her room. Their mother ran after them. Her father followed quietly.
'Ruby ?, "Her mother asked, she stood in front of her, her eyes in the'You know you can tell me absolutely everything," position, her father and sister watching on from directly behind her.
From her bed Ruby saw  them watching, throwing glances. Fearful and hesitant. For minutes.
"Nothing. There is nothing, She finally broke the silence. "Just a little nervous before a test."
Relieved, they all left the room.
"But I'm going to prom !, She shouted after her father. He walked back to her room, stood in the doorway.
"Deal."

It's the middle of winter. Nico is wearing his white tuxedo. He looks good in it, he thinks. An acquaintance who encounters him on the street bewilderingly says: 'You are wearing a summery outfit! Man, you must be crazy. you are shivering from the cold .`
That it makes Nico feel good apparently doesn't matter at all. White is a colour that does not suit him. Too frivolous. He has his white tuxedo painted black. Much better this way, he thinks. The shaking continues unimpeded. No sweat.  But even that is not good at all. Nico wants to suffer.

He is very been busy with the suit. Almost as if he experiences joy from it. And that is absolutely not the intention. Horrified he thinks of joy. Only primitive souls find delight in joy.

Once he gets home, he grabs a thick ski suit and puts it on, over it he wears his winter coat. He turns the heating up high. Sweating, he sits in his most uncomfortable chair. Highly unpleasant. Nico is tired of himself, of his own obsessions. And that's good, though it could always be better.