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feet like a tired dog. Except no one is allowed to visit otherwise it jumps up and bites, as a sign, that the property belongs to us alone.
    They pay court to women. Both of them actually. But mainly Janisch senior, the country policeman. That's so easily said, but he has already made so many people in this town and in this part of the country unhappy. Well, would you have guessed it? Preferably women who own houses or apartments in the nearby small town. These female proceedings have to be conducted and intimately handled, even if what the Janischs do is not described like that. They combine the pleasing with the useful. Well.
    It's a good thing if one gets around in one's job and the hours are a bit flexible, so that one can go for a wee drive in between. The husbands of these wives should be deceased if possible or never have existed in the first place. There should never have been children present either. Who knows something like that (that a lady has to make an exit at a given moment, otherwise there's one too many around for her property), if not a policeman, priest, neighbor, telephone engineer, or the appropriate grocer, who himself, however, has cast an eye over this emptiness, which in his mind is becoming populated with ever more bricks, until one's heart grows heavy? However, only the margins in retail trade are worth talking about, not actions. This box of tropical fruit must not be knocked over, the ease and naturalness with which the venomous red leaping spider, but no, it's called a crested spider, will hop out, could produce expressions, which would become sights worth seeing. The grocer will never get back the eye he risked. That's the way women are, always the same type for the love command and for the most global project of all, against which environmental pollution and world peace are nothing: marriage. They all want it. Women and marriage, that's the perfect combination, especially in the country, where there aren't many distractions and you soon get enough of them. Marriage follows. It's not possible for a woman to say "thanks, but no thanks." The grocer will have to buy his bananas somewhere else and deliver them somewhere else, the door is shut to him. He hasn't got the faintest idea to whom this door is opened, but it must be to someone. He hasn't seen the woman behind it for weeks now. In the end the niece in Krems will get something she hadn't been expecting, and she'll get it after the aunt's end. It won't have paid off, that the grocer so decently delivered food to the old woman in his car. Others were quicker and there already. The neighbors, too, like to munch along, leftovers, too. They stare at the garbage. The things she throws away, they can still be used! People steal from one another, first out of conviction, then out of love. First they introduce themselves as neighbors and immediately transform themselves into friends, that is, greedy beasts, just as in our dear Balkans, which we meanwhile know better than our own living room, where the place appears on our screens at least four times a day, where neighbors were still neighbors but didn't stay that way. Our own neighbors spur on their apocalyptic steeds, so that this shoving, splashing, dripping flood of old men and women is directed into the bed, which stands in the bedroom, where often the TV doesn't come in. If one doesn't proceed carefully, it may be that one goes under and pleasantly anaesthetized by Anafranil suffocates in one's own shit. Stealing isn't so easy, often it's hard work, otherwise we'd all be doing it.
    The two Janischs, we're agreed on that, want to get either immediately or a little later a whole house or several houses for nothing, that's all they've got: nothing. In fact the desired pieces of real estate are to be added to the ones the Janischs already own. They'll first have to change the gears of a number of women, I'm afraid. One starts up in first gear, one comes to a stop with the last. That must have been