single projekt

While Marty was driving home, he toyed with the idea of owning a restaurant - even if it was a dump like Frying Nemo. But how to bring in the money? So far his savings totalled up to 1064 §. And he couldn’t ask Davey for a loan when his friend was himself short of money.

He sighed. This meant another dead-end job as kitchen scullion in another lousy dive.


Davey took more and more delight in the ballet lessons, despite the on-going criticism by their teacher, Madame Bogdanova.

As if this wasn’t enough, he was bullied by the most exclusive clique in the ballet hall - the little girls.

Who were treating him most of the time as he wasn’t there. That was totally fine with Davey since he hadn’t the slightest interest to socialise with some spoiled brats.

He couldn’t help but notice though that they were constantly gossiping about him behind his back. At one lesson he overheard their queen bee by the name of Mackenzie Van Schuyler railing against him.

“Look at that ancient pervert with his flat feet.” she whispered loudly to one of her minions, “Let’s make sure he’s gonna kicked out very soon.”


Mr Poppyfield met some smelly leftover from the Seventies who was unaware of the fact yet that Woodstock ended a while ago.

Moonshine was quite the chatty guy.

“All’s relative to oblivion, man. The challenge is to silence the mind! So it’s mostly Maui Wowie, man, but it’s got some labrador in it as well. I’m bathing still in the afterglow of my last trip!”

Davey wished Moonshine would use water and soap instead of some afterglow for his next bath.

“Marty, I can’t accept this! What about your plans to buy the Fryin’ Nemo?” Davey was left dumbstruck by his friend’s generosity.

“Saving you from bankruptcy has a much higher priority than owning a seedy chipper,” Marty declared deeply solemn.

Davey, who was far away from any bankruptcy but meanwhile quite the wealthy cookie lord, didn’t know what to say. Especially when Marty, while blushing crimson, breathed nervously “I love you, Davey Poppyfield!”

A thin woman wearing a monocle entered the dance studio and eyed the disciples stern.

“QUIET!” she yelled with a strident voice while brandishing a riding crop.

“I’m your teacher, and my name is Madame Bogdanova. Not Mrs, not Miss, not Ma'am - it’s MADAME Bogdanova, capisce? Now, girls and gays, assemble and sit down, so I can familiarise you with the rules of this class.”


“Ugh! Still two left feet!" 

Madame Bogdanova rolled her eyes so excessively that her monocle nearly fell off.

Davey was really tired of her constant criticism which spoiled the fun for him tremendously. "Why do you constantly carp about me, lady?” it slipped out of his mouth.

Madame Bogdanova gasped, and Davey thought ‘Now she will hit me with her crop!’

Instead she spoke to him in a hushed tone “Because you’re the only in this class with potential. Look at those losers behind me! Geez! You on the other hand have at least some gift. But I must tickle it out of you*. But I must educe this gift from you. So, call me Lady once more, and you will feel my wrath!”


*Unintentional hilarity because I shouldn’t translate German expressions verbatim

Marty saw only three options to increase his bank account from 1064 § to 60.000 § until Snowflake Day.

Bank robbery was morally questionable, and selling his kidneys was ruled out for medical reasons. Therefore gambling was left in the basket.

He dolled himself up and went to the Golden Plumbbob Casino to play some poker.

The only problem was that Marty’s knowledge of poker was quite limited. In fact, the only card game he knew was Old Maid. But what should go wrong? It was just a card game, and Marty was confident of his success.