Robin's Hood.

It's been a while since I picked up this beautiful picture of my neighborhood. Which I, luckily, didn't grow up in. They say, sometimes it is good to step back a bit to get a broader impression. Well, in this case obviously it isn't. If pictures could talk, this one would probably say "This is for local people, there's nothing for you here..." or something like that. Bugger off. Get lost. That aside, here's what you see in the picture, explained: dominating the whole is the big black roof of the MallWart building. It's bigger than a soccer field, and meaner, too. Just by looking at it one can imagine - this is not a local shop for local people, (we'll have no trouble here...???) - this is one big torture chamber. It starts as soon as you enter the whole thing, it smells meaner than an old ramshackle gym in full gear after class. This is probably the place where the lunchladies buy their supply that Spam Cook himself uses to slow-poison the students: Stromboli and fries, grilled cheese and broccoli soup. What are we feeding our youth? Just don't get me started on this one! What else do we have... soccer fields. Three of them. It didn't help St. Pauli to stay in the premier league. Not the second even. They hardly ever can be seen. Training hard? A myth. However, the whole quarter is crowded with special forces to prevent riots after their games. No, really. Next, the big empty space to the right: three times a year, for four weeks each, this space is used to bring on the Dom. That's Hamburg's answer to Munich's Oktoberfest. Or maybe it's the other way around? All Hamburg residents and people from the hinterland (the urban sprawl) are ordered to support their local pleasure grounds, stroll across the field and pretend they're happy spending ridiculous amounts of money on ridiculously silly rides. So you get to see fourteen year olds gathering at the Dodg‘em getting drunk or wasted on chemical highs, nodding their heads to the pumping sound of 50 Cent's worth. SPAM! Then we have the Haunted House. And people getting scared to the bone every year anew. This haunted house has to ignite some sort of amnesia, maybe it's a test field for war gas they're using once you've entered, or perhaps the agony of all the lost souls inside that causes severe oblivion. I mean, even I went in there once, and believe me - I have no memory whatsoever. Not at all. Next, to the upper right, somehow in disguise our beloved bunker from WW II. A huge building by itself, but compared to WartMal it's a dog kennel. Still, it would make for a good hurricane shelter. You know, climate change and all that. And I seem to have a pretty good chance to get there in time - if I do not oversleep, which is very likely all the same. So, this is my friendly neighbourhood. Pauli, as we call it, and I have been living here for the last eighteen years or so. Mostly because of a decent rent, spectacular sunrise, and friendly neighbours that pretend not to hear me when I turn up the bass. Which I'm about to commence anytime soon. But that's a completely different story...