All glass, steel and wood

The house is made from glass, steel and wood alone. Massive looks the house, even if B. calls it exclusive. Obviously exclusiveness now is the term to describe young and aspiring architects who better should planning steel factories or car retail centers but not houses. But this would be too harsh, especially when B. praises this genius of an architect who did such an unbelievable great work. And inside things don’t get better,  all is made of steel, glass and wood, white are the leather couches who look like small space shuttles, the table is made of massive glass and the white leather chairs look as uncomfortable as they are, when you sit on them for longer than two minutes. Gorgeous, praises B. the interior, shows me the electric curtains that can be moved up and down, the electric system to regulate the light, the electric heating system and the electric thing you can open the garage doors with, when you sit on the space shuttle couch, on the couch table lay the obvious coffee table books but the room is dominated by a huge flat screen and thousand similar electric devices who are perfectly framed in by steel, glass and wood. K. his girlfriend, I never met before in person, greets me with a duster in her hand and says she truly is a manic cleaner. Oh, say I and congratulate her to the house, because with all this glass and white leather she must have found her paradise than. Obviously persons who always have a duster in the pocket don’t have any sense for irony but just carry on with a „swiff here“ and a „swaff there“. K.’s son whom I never met in person either, has some old-fashioned name, says not a word and soon he is deep sunk in the world of some video game he plays on the massive screen in the living room. But neither K. nor B. call him with his given name, he is just Junior. Somewhere in here should live a white dog but I can’t spot him, maybe he lives a life of chameleon on the white sofa. We eat Sushi brought by a delivery service, served on white plates, the leftovers K. just throws into a metal bin that makes awkward noises, but I don’t feel in the mood to get a lecture on electric bins and don’t ask. Junior asks for ice-cream and soon two scoops of vanilla ice- cream swim in his coke glass and he disappears to the screen and the only noise we hear from his direction is a sudden: „Booom“ or „shrriiiiek“. Soon we get up, and B. and me go outside. B. smokes a cigarette on the balcony and I join him, leaning over the balustrade, looking into the garden, the garden too, made of white stones, a pond with some Japanese fish and dead green bushes, invisible in the night. „Are you happy here?“ I ask B. and for some moment his smile freezes, not long maybe for half a minute. „It’s splendid here“, he says, „you know many people dream of a place like this.“ I see, answer I and don’t ask him if people live in such places like his.

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