A friend sent me an article that I had written in the mid-90s. 30 years have passed since that time. I read the lines. They touch me deeply: A long working day comes to an end. The phone rings. An unknown female voice answers from Bielefeld station. She asks if I know Kalle. - Yes, I know him. Kalle was a young drug addict who had lived with us in Hardehausen for a while. The woman tells me that she found Kalle in the drug scene in Bielefeld and that he now stands at the railway station and keeps calling me by my name. I immediately realise that I have to re-plan the rest of my day. Ninety minutes later, I'm at Bielefeld railway station. I look for Kalle and find him.
He looks at me and slowly walks towards me. I speak to him. His eyes are watery. He's pumped full of drugs. He starts to cry and repeats my name over and over again: ‘Meinolf, Meinolf!’ I take him in my arms. He cries bitterly. I ask him if he wants to go home with me.’
