manuscript-day four of 100
Yesterday night, while hunched over his C-64, absorbedly somersaulting over compact droids while running along platforms, hard banging against the door of his flat wrenched him out of immersion.
‘Open that door immediately,’ a commanding voice shouted from the staircase outside his apartment. The order was preceded by the incomprehensible, but nevertheless authoritative yelling of a name, and of a likewise yelled address resembling the one of a nearby police station. Already close to wetting his pants, picturing himself in jail for having committed the arch-crime of copyright infringement at least a zillion times, he sprang to immediate action.
Each inmate of his building has access to a balcony, running along the width of the facade, divided into cubicles by flimsy separating plates. He used to joke, that when he returned home from work, and stepped through the balcony door, he sometimes for a moment felt to be back in the office.
The office he would not see for the long time of his sentence.
Pressure upon him, he knelt down and started to gather up all data storage media he could get hold of. Quite a task, as the dispersed heaps were littering half of the floor. He knew that a friend of him, occupying the laying-battery cell next to his, was home.
The yelling and banging not ceasing amplified his nervousness and fright to a state of terror. He rushed out on the balcony, balancing his load on both arms.
‘They’re coming for me,’ he cried into the neighbour’s face, who happened to be outside on the balcony, ‘you gotta help me!’ Leaning over the parapet and halfway around the separator he started to shove the untidy bundle of diskettes over to his friend.
The neighbour, completely caught by surprise, did not manage to properly receive the contraband. Neither did the sender manage to properly shove it over, resulting in the two of them ushering a wobbling shower of real ‘floppy’ disks, 5 1/4” in diameter, down to the street.
‘What’s that?’ the neighbour finally asked, looking into the abyss, where the cloud of data started to settle on the concrete.
‘Our games, silly!’ he spat out between clenched teeth, rushing inside again, not wanting to make the law wait for too suspiciously long a time.