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fingers of his right hand. “Can any one of you idiots tell me how I’m going to climb the fire escape with these?” His left hand points to the pajama bottoms.
    “You’re a grown-up,” says Janosch loftily. “You can do it. A sumo wrestler could do it twice. Come on, Glob, make an effort!”
    “Nobody asked me if I want to grow up. It’s a lot easier not to, huh, guys?”
    “Bag it,” says Janosch. “We’re not doing therapy here, we’re talking beer and sex. It’s not about our inner child.”
    “I’m tired,” says Florian a.k.a. Girl.
    “Who asked you?” says Janosch. “You said you’re in, and you’re in. Did you get the beer?”
    “Troy has it,” says Skinny Felix. “He has the biggest pockets. And he doesn’t sing.”
    “He doesn’t even talk, so why should he sing?”
    “Search me,” says Florian. “Anyhow, he’s got the beer.”
    Janosch sighs. “Then we’re all set. You okay, Benni?”
    “All set.”
    So things start to roll. Another pointless event.
    The same six of us. Janosch says these pointless events will single us out. As I look around, I see he’s right. Here we all are—the pointless eventers. Florian a.k.a. Girl, in a rust-colored pajama top and white undershorts. His bare feet patter on the linoleum floor. He’s often made night trips with Janosch to the girls’ corridor. They really like him up there. He’s made some kind of a move on Anna, Malen’s friend. He’s always making moves on people, according to Felix, sometimes three a week. Never has any luck. He’s always the loyal sidekick, never the real lover. He’d be in a total panic if he were. But that doesn’t stop his trying, as per Janosch’s code of pointlessness.
    Next to him is Fat Felix. Apparently he doesn’t often go along on trips to the girls’ corridor. Doesn’t find it easy to talk to girls, according to Janosch. His eyes tear up and he talks complete crap—like soccer, for example. Janosch is sure soccer turns girls off. A bit like talking about pesticides. Which is why the others always make sure Felix has a lot to drink. That way, he falls asleep pretty quick, and when he’s asleep, he can’t talk garbage. At least that’s Janosch’s view. Felix has brought along a clothespin to deal with the fire escape. He clamps it onto the front of his pajama pants. As he moves, it moves in rhythm with him. Looks weird. As if he had a mouse in there.
    Behind him are Skinny Felix and Troy. The two big question marks. Nobody knows much about them. Supposedly Troy hasn’t even fallen in love with anyone yet. All he wants is quiet. His black spikes of hair are standing up every which way; otherwise he looks like he always does. Long clean-shaven face. No pimples, just a couple on his neck. Pale skin—looks as if it’s never seen the sun. Apparently couldn’t give a shit about nocturnal adventures: it’s just he can’t sleep. So he often goes along but spends most of the time sitting in a corner. Never says a word, and no one’s ever shown a flicker of interest in him. He’s just there. Like the moon or the stars. This is also Skinny Felix’s first time, just like me. And he’s all wound up, just like me. You can see it. His bare legs are trembling. He’s wearing nothing but a pair of patterned undershorts. Nothing on his top half either. Felix is all muscle. His stomach’s a washboard. Must be a come-on for Malen, I think. He’s got a lot more to offer than I do.
    Which brings us to the second last in our gang, namely Janosch. He’s left his pajama top behind in the room too. After all, he has to keep up with the others. He’s got nothing on but his wine-red pajama pants. They’re scrunched up a bit. You can see his powerful calf muscles. He’s borrowed a pair of glasses from Charlie, another one of Landorf ’s pupils. He wants to look more intelligent. I can’t tell if he’s succeeding. The glasses are narrow, with rectangular lenses. Black frames. Florian thinks that if it was