Nelson Galaxy

Today marks the day I bid a fond farewell to the two Steffans. They are to return to their German homeland this evening, back to strudel and raw bacon. They have seen what I do and seem very impressed, as they should be. Their maudlin dead eyes expressed genuine appreciation.

I shook each of their hands, bidding them a bon voyage and happy future. They conspiratorially manoeuvred me to one side, one of them had their hand on my shoulder, their voices were low and faces concerned.

“Herr Galaxy, ve admire you and your courage to be yourself. But please be careful.”
“Ve both know a fellow, ve vere very close. His name vas Steffan.”
“Very very close.”
“He vas verking as a showgirl in a cabaret bar in Berlin. Hans, von of his verk colleagues, discovered this and smashed him in the head with a brick.”
“Hans is ze monster. He iz an evil man.”
“Steffan is now in a coma. Ve loved him.”
“Ve really loved him. So please be careful.”
“Ve care for you Nelson.”

His face had twisted in a false, almost sickeningly cheery, rictus.

“I can assure you Steffan and indeed Steffan, that if anyone so much as threatens me they will find a six inch stiletto heel buried in their skull. Scheißeköpfe!”