Recycling Karma

Oh it was Saturday - normally a really good day.  But you have to factor in Dotzheim.

The centre of Dotzheim is a magnet for all the very strange people.  And here, "very strange" is a euphemism.

Waiting for the bus to take me home, just standing & waiting & minding my own business - a small man hove into view.  Nice that he had freshly vomited on his t-shirt (no, really he had). As he stood and swayed in front of me, he explained how it was so easy to punch someone.  And he was really good at it.  Apparently much better than controlling his digestion.

Over the years my control of irritation has improved - so the question was posed "Why would I care?  Go home and change your t-shirt."  That seemed to have short-circuited his very small brain.  He just stood there not understanding why I wouldn't engage with him.

It was lovely when my bus arrived, on time and without any small drunk men in vomit stained t-shirts.

The centre of vicious oddness in Wiesbaden is undoubtedly in Dotzheim.  Stupidity is the heart of Schierstein.  

The milk of human kindness is more than a little sour today.