Puffmutter

The area that I walk buddy in is quite beautiful and scenic. The path passes through an area that includes apple orchards, and peoples’ private gardens (which are quite ornate in many respects). The path meanders under the autobahn at one point, emptying itself at the edge of a thick wood. I was mulling over the similarities between these apple trees and the ones that came alive to attack Dorothy in Oz when a peculiar sight ruined my groundbreaking hypothesizing; a parked car under the autobahn.  Normally cars are ON the autobahn moving at sickening speeds. It was kind of surprising to see one UNDER the autobahn doing a whole lot of nothing.  At first glance, the station wagon looked eerily empty. I assuaged my worry quickly, deducing through simple logic that he must be an engineer off doing his engineering thing, or simply taking a piss. In Germany, you have to pay to pee. Customarily, the price is 50 cents to 1 euro which is to be paid directly to a guy “working the door” or deposited into a turnstile. With this price point now in mind, I gathered that the latter was almost undoubtedly the reason for the parking of the car in such a shady circumstance. With the eerie car mystery solved, I began to wonder aloud whether or not my dog buddy would take a shit already. Using poor judgment, I had left the house without a receptacle worthy enough of collecting such dignified remains.  At this point I was fearful that a nosy German ( is there any other kind) would catch buddy and I shitting and running. This being a small proper town, the “word” would spread like clamadia on prom night that an Americana was degregating German soil. This being an Olympic year, I knew national pride would be at stake. The town ridicule would be particularly fierce and may drive me toward Obi Won Kenobi status.

Suddenly more pressing issues bore themselves out.  Out of the corner of my eye, I saw movement in the driver’s seat of the station wagons window.  But this was not just any kind of movement, it was vigorous movement.  Upon further inspection I soon deduced from the steamy windows, and the shady park job UNDER the autobahn that this must be some kind of mid-morning fuck fest.  Using the time of day, and the manner in which the station wagon was so haphazardly publicizing  itself, I quickly concluded that it must be some harmless high school kids having premarital sex and smoking a potent form of blue meth. Not wanting to intrude any further, I left without a word.  Only later, upon my reveling of the facts to the family did the truth begin to stir inside me. This was a puffmutter using her skills to pay the bills.

In Germany, prostitution is kind of legal. In Frankfurt, they have a red light area that I have strolled unknowingly through before.  I have seen proper red light areas in Amsterdam mind you, so I consider myself a whore connoisseur. This particular red light district in Frankfurt screams of desperation and AIDS.  Horribly malformed and broken women looking like extra’s from the Martian world of Arnold’s 1990 classic Total Recall plead with you to give them a moment of your time.  The feeling of exhilaration I first found being in being in such a morally ambiguous place was soon washed away under a Japanese sized tsunami of fear. Groups of whores accosted me like Somalian’s around a UN wheat truck molesting me as if I were a human sized Teddy Ruxpin.   I have never been the same since that day.   In small surrounding towns, there are also whore houses, where a puftmother or madam runs the ship. Legally they are supposed to stay on the reservation, but in the case observed, it seems one of the little Indians escaped to go suck a dick.   I wonder if these whore houses give out gift cards.  Perhaps a coupon or maybe a two for one Wednesday deal is in their business plan. Only time will divulge the mysteries of the puffmutter to me.