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'You all right...?'
'Yeah... yeah just a bit nauseous.'
Hans pressed his car radio.
I immediately stretched forward and turned the volume down.
'I... I don't feel so good.' I started to sweat like a maniac and swallowed air as if my intestines had a lack of oxygen.
'Are we going to puke? Not in my car you don't!' Suddenly Hans started to reel on the road.
I pitched forward. 'STOP!' From the corners of my eyes I noticed his grinning face. 'Stop the car!', I hissed.
Before the car stood still I had already thrown open the door and emptied myself from a load of puke. I felt my balls turning around. I puked everything out. A real comic-like stream.
'My mother surely had warned me never to take drugs.' I tried concentrating on breathing.
'Okay, I'm driving home now… watering the plants.'
A little later we just turned before the border into a deserted road that ended at an old monastery. On the outside the building appeared as if the nurses could march out any minute. But inside time had passed and one could find apartments with a varied amount of tenants.
'Are you coming, too or do you stay here?'
I mumbled and heard the slamming of the door. Watering the plants... Hans had one room full of marihuana plants. His first harvest, two months ago, had made him ten thousand guilders. What had happened with the money I didn't know. We did rent the top floor of a house in the center of town. Since a week the whole attic there was another greenhouse of plants. Not that I had my share in that, but he paid the rent and I had a room. I was going to screen print. I tried to sit up straight and was satisfied with the ten centimeters of progression. I stared at the orange light outside the hall. Hans had told me his landlord made yesterday such a row in front of him. How Jean-Pierre had accused him of stealing a mountain-bike. Hans kept claiming he absolutely had not. He admitted he now and then smoked a joint and that therefore the other tenants had pointed him out. With his long black hair and with a seven feet skinny body, Hans was stereotyped as the unemployed hippie. How he managed, I didn't know, but nobody in the building had knowledge of his secret plantation.
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