Avalanche Aphrodisiac: Ep 5
A new just-for-fun satire content piece every Week
Recap Chapter 4
There has been a profound paradigm shift in the life of our protagonist - after quitting his job and investing $24,000 in cryptocurrency he decides to leave his life in the Bay Area behind to go in search of a degen exile. But where? While his friend Simon spends the winter draining his manhood in European sex clubs, we follow said protagonist to Yonkers, New York, where he loiters around his family’s dysfunctional home for the Holidays.
To read the full Chapters 1 - 3 you can find the links at the bottom
In First Class a member of the cabin crew handed me something called “The Winter Menu” and said that if I was in need of an extra pillow all I had to do was ask. In row 8, where I was sat, I was flanked on my left by a pensioner who remained perfectly still for the duration of the flight, absorbed in some kind of sports autobiography, and a woman to my right, about my own age, who looked like the type to ignore safe words.
Four hours prior I took a cab to JFK where I was met with the usual combination of excitement and anxiety as I waited in line at security after checking in my suitcase at one of the desks. I removed the belt from around my waist, laptop from my rucksack and emptied the contents of my pockets into a tray before walking nervously through the metal detector, only to be told to turn around and take off my shoes. After putting them in another tray I preformed the ritual a second time - on this occasion shoeless - holding up my jeans with an index finger in one of the belt loops as the security personal – a military reject and his sidekick – looked me up and down like predators about to devour their prey, evoking a scene of what I imagined my first day in prison would be like if I ever found myself there. Uncharacteristically my father sent me a message wishing me luck, and said it would be nice having his eldest son back on the east coast (before going to bed the previous night, I told my family I was going back to California to get my stuff). I wondered how long it would take for my family to realise that soon I wouldn’t be in the same country as they were, let alone the same city.
I sat at the McDonald’s and laboured through almost $20 worth of food - instantly regretting my decision when I realised I probably wouldn’t be hungry enough to enjoy the first class spread on the plane. I took a Valium before taking out my phone and messaging Simon to tell him I would be in Zurich in eight hours, Berlin in around twelve. It was still early in New York and I couldn’t be bothered to check what time it was in Berlin, but I knew that if it was bedtime there, Simon would undoubtedly be awake, and if it were during the day he would inevitably be asleep. Either way I didn’t expect him to reply. Having been plagued by anxiety over the holidays I switched off the price alerts for my coins and had decided that if I wanted to start making real money I would have to take bigger risks. Up until this point I had been playing it safe, but Simon, on the other hand, had jumped in headfirst and invested everything he had on one meme coin that had made him rich in less than a week. Sitting there I knew that if things went south for me I could always ask him for help - after all, he was the one who told me to follow him out to Berlin.
After take-off the cabin crew brought myself and the other passengers in first class a glass of champagne, along with the menu for later on. Because I had booked my ticket less than 24 hours before, I couldn’t reserve my entree, even though I had paid almost three thousand dollars for the privilege of my seat. Instead, I would have to choose my main course from a less impressive list of options on “The Winter Menu.” The journey itself needed no lubrication, but the celebration of leaving the US did, and I watched with delight as the air hostess put the glass on the table in front of me. I wasted no time and threw it down my neck before ordering an Absolute on ice. The screen in front of me turned on and I spent about half an hour trying to decide what movie to watch, eventually settling on Wall Street. The movie was older than I was, but the plot somehow more relevant now than ever. After an hour the perfumed cabin crew wheeled the first meal of three down the aisle. “Some light refreshments?” one of them, who looked like a kind of matron, said to me. “Sure,” I replied. She placed what looked like a charcuterie board on the table in front of me, before I asked her for another Absolute on ice. “Right with you,” she said, continuing down aisle and stopping at each row. About twenty minutes later, I fell asleep, and was awoken half an hour later by the feeling that I was going to die. “We are going to be experiencing some turbulence for the next fifteen minutes. Please remain in your seats,” the pilot said over the intercom. I rummaged around in my travel bag before popping a Valium into my mouth and washing it down with the vodka-flavoured water that was on the table in front of me. Gripping the armrest of my seat, I closed my eyes and imagined an incredulous scenario in which the woman sat in the seat next to mine got up to go to the toilet, and asked me to follow her. Hesitantly I get up from my seat, stumble down the aisle. My vision is blurry from the combination of alcohol and benzos, but my intentions are clear. She opens the door of the bathroom and before closing it behind her, looks back at me, making a come hither motion with her index finger. I stand outside the door and look back into first class where the rest of the passengers are asleep. I can smell her perfume – heavy and hypnotic – from outside. I’m writhing. Opening the door suddenly, she pulls me inside. I try to touch her, but she says “No.” Instead, she sits back on the shelf below the mirror, parts her legs and brings her fingers to her pussy briefly, before raising them above it, an imperceptible silken fiber connecting the tips of her fingers to the most penetrable wetness known to man. I’m suddenly wearing a tie, which she pulls tight around my neck, I cannot breath, nor do I want to, but suddenly I feel like I’m going to pass out or come, so I try to scream the safe word, but it’s not coming out, no matter how hard I scream, because I don’t know what it is.
“Can you please fasten your seatbelt?” I hear the old matron say suddenly. I open my eyes, look down at my crotch, and pull the straps from either side of me to meet in the middle, buckling my seatbelt. I’m panting. I look over at the woman sitting to my right, but she’s fast asleep.
In Zurich a few hours later, drowsy from the Valium I had taken before and during the flight, and already hung-over from the several Absolute’s I knocked back in between, I strolled around the airport for a while as if in a dream, floating around the duty free until I came across a smoking room: the bastion of any European airport. Opposite the giant glass case was a newsagent selling magazines, newspapers, sandwiches and tobacco. Given I was on my way to a city that hadn’t yet been squeezed by the almost global ban on indoor smoking, I decided to buy a pack of Camels to prepare my lungs for what was to come, and spent the following 45-minutes smoking with the rest of the losers before almost throwing up in a bin and boarding another flight to Berlin.
The ground only became visible when the wheels of the plane were what seemed like inches from the surface of the runway for the abysmal weather conditions that had descended on Tegel Airport. In this demi-blizzard, we must have resembled the inside of a snow globe in the hand of a hyper toddler. After the turbulence on the first flight from New York to Zurich, I had visions of bodies burning alive after the plane came crashing down on the tarmacadam, the pilot’s powers impotent against that of the icy surface on which myself and the other passengers had plummeted towards, evidently exploding shortly after impact into a ball of flames, my first class seat unable to thwart that of the sticky heat that had enveloped my entire body in seconds.
“Ausweis,” the immigration officer said. After scanning my passport and looking me up and down for what felt like an eternity, she slid my passport back under the gap in the window and wished me a happy new year – I had lost almost a day travelling and felt something in between relieved and apathetic about it. I had escaped the pressure ringing in a new year with nothing more to show for myself than a penchant for risk. While I waited for my suitcase on the carousel, I tried to call Simon, but he didn’t answer, so I found myself checking in on my coins, mildly infuriated at the fact that on my advice, Simon was now even more financially secure then he had ever been, while I was watching my investments dwindling away right before my eyes.
As I waited in line for a cab, Simon called me to wish me a happy new year and told me that he was on his way home and would be there in thirty minutes. “I should be home before you arrive, but if I’m not, just wait in the café across the road.” I couldn’t tell if he had been out all night or not. “How was new year’s?” I said, shuffling forward with the motion of the queue. “In Berlin people celebrate the occasion for almost a week, so really, we’re just getting started.” I could hear him inhaling a cigarette. “I’m pretty exhausted,” I said. “Well, you’ve come to the right place – nobody seems to sleep here.”
With that in mind we rung off and said we would see each other back at his place in Kreuzberg. Drifting in and out of consciousness in the back of the cab, I started to daydream about the woman on the plane – I started to daydream about the Valium-induced daydream I had had about her during a turbulent spell somewhere over the Atlantic. I hadn’t seen her after we landed in Zurich airport, nor did I see her again on the flight to Berlin, although my memory of both Zurich Airport and the hour long flight to Berlin were a little hazy - if non-existent – and the fact that I was able to hold myself together for the silent grilling I received at the immigration desk in Berlin was a miracle.
“Entschuldigung? Entschuldigung?” I opened my eyes and was met with the driver’s in the rear view mirror. “Vierzig euro, drei und zwanzig dann bitte.” Unable to understand a word he was saying, I immediately looked at the meter: €40.23. I had withdrawn €1,000 in Zurich airport on the advice of Simon who said that most ATM’s in Berlin charged a fee, but moreso because he said that the majority of bars and restaurants only accepted cash payments. Elsewhere, and within the crypto community, it seemed that we were headed more and more towards a cashless society, but here in Berlin, there seemed to be a radical aversion to the idea. “Good luck trying to find a cab driver that accepts a credit card,” he said. Idiotically I took out the wad of cash I had folded and stuffed into the inside pocket of my jacket and handed the driver a fifty note. I wasn’t sure whether to expect change but after struggling to find the correct amount he just handed me a ten-euro note and said “Schön tag noch.” I got out of the cab and walked to the back of the car where he had popped the trunk for me. Pulling out my suitcase with what little energy I had left inside me, I then closed the boot of the car, slung my rucksack over my shoulder and dragged my suitcase to the door on Solmstrasse. I scanned the names on each doorbell, trying to find Simon’s. Pushing Zimmermann and leaned myself against the building. “Hallo,” a woman’s voice said. “Hello?” I replied. “Ja, hallo?” she said, this time really accentuating the vowels. “This is — ”, and with that my phone rang, it was Simon. “I’m almost there,” he said. “I’ll get us a couple of beers. Where are you?” I stepped back onto the street away from the building.
Simon laughed as we ascended the staircase of his building and said that his landlord’s name is on his bell, not his own. “I’m only subletting,” he said, lugging his suitcase up behind him. Evidently there was more than one Zimmermann on Solmstrasse.
Stay tuned for the final Chapter…
It's an emergency Joe 🤓🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🥀🥀🥀🍷🍷🍷🍷🍷🍺🍻🍻🍻
Ahora sí te pasaste hijo @&@_@$-+#($)/que pues we Will work or naaaaa