Tiger Milk Read Online Free Page B

for a laugh, Kathi and Laura start asking people for spare change. The nearly empty container of Tiger Milk sits between me and Jameelah. I wrap my arms around my knees as the summer rain falls around us and soaks into the parched concrete, giving off that unique smell.
    I’m pretty wasted, I whisper.
    Jameelah nods.
    Me too, she says, I was already completely wasted at that guy’s place, she says and then she reaches into her shoe, pulls out my fifty euro note, and hands it to me.
    It was a good fucking laugh today, eh?
    Yeah, I say, stashing the money, but it was fucking cross, too.
    I look up at the sky, which presses down on us with that eerie yellow colour it gets before a big storm, like it’s trying to scare us.
    Look, I say, it really looks like the apocalypse is coming.
    I guess the ship must be finished, says Jameelah.
    That was quick.
    Yeah. Maybe God’s earth really is rotten. Maybe there really is a God and maybe his earth really is rotten. I’d believe it.
    Wait, why? I thought you said it was the saddest thing you’d ever heard?
    Yeah, but sad things are usually true, says Jameelah, Nico’s right about that.
    She closes her eyes, opens her mouth, and catches the raindrops on her tongue. Beyond the S-bahn tracks there’s a flash of lightning, then we hear the thunder and a few seconds later the rain starts to pour down as hard as in a rainforest. Laura and Kathi come running over and grab their backpacks, which are on the ground next to ours.
    Fucking global warming, shouts Laura and we all hold hands and run for cover shrieking but by the time we reach an awning we’re all soaking wet. Jameelah puts her hand on my shoulder and braces herself as she pulls down the wet stockings that are clinging to her legs. Her hand is warm and I close my eyes and listen to the rain, the way it falls out of the sky, the way it plunks into the gathering puddles, the way it drips from the awning and soaks into my shoe and joins the pebble. I’m tired and drunk, I think, and I still have to go shopping, bread, Leberwurst, noodles, ketchup, but then Jameelah’s long nails dig into my shoulder. I open my eyes and am about to complain when I see him. He’s coming toward us. His dark hair is all wet and drops of rain hang from his long eyelashes, and beneath the lashes his dark Bambi eyes and pale face, so pale it looks like he’s suffering from some elegant disease. It’s Lukas. In his right hand he has a bottle of wine and a tattered book is sticking out of his jacket pocket, which is just one of the million things Jameelah loves about him. I can’t understand why anyone would read so much, I don’t see what’s so great about it, I think it’s somehow abnormal.
    Hello, he says, staring at Jameelah as she stands there barefoot with her wet stockings in her hand. I crack a smile and think to myself, either he thinks she’s incredible or he thinks she’s disgusting, but that’s how it always is with Jameelah. As if in slow motion she stuffs the stockings into her backpack, gently, purposefully, every movement carefully considered, like a hunter trying to position herself without scaring off a wild animal. She slips back into her red Chucks and smiles.
    I have to tell you something, she says looking at Lukas, I dreamed about you, I dreamt that you captured some kind of mythical beast, it was see-through with two heads. It was like a cross between a dragon and a kangaroo but it lived in the water and could purr like a cat.
    Lukas laughs.
    You should write that down, he says, that’s really poetic imagery.
    I already did, says Jameelah.
    He is really good looking somehow, at least when he’s listening to Jameelah tell him something, though maybe we all look nice when she is telling us something. Lukas wants to say something but two hands come from behind him and cover his Bambi eyes. The hands belong to Anna-Lena, Anna-Lena whose hair is always freshly washed – only freshly washed hair moves like