Garvin Lakes

The loud rustle of the leaves, the surrounding trees, is drowned out by the deafening roar of cars over the High Way. On this day, I condemn my good sense of smell once again for everything around me to be able to perceive. The smell of the engine oil rises in my nose and makes sure that I hull these. The dusty evening air fills my lungs pleasantly and the bright light of the crescent shines down on our little group. The road in front of us is illuminated by the large red tubes, which were placed on a blackboard at the entrance to the village. I am already reading for the thousandth time the words that are written on it. Much of it is adorned with the words "Seven-Eleven Bar". The letters consist of red tubes, except for the "S", which shines in a dark purple. Underneath is written in white on a blue background "Garvin Lakes". This is followed by an arrow indicating how long it will take to get to the place to which the bar belongs. I've been here so often that I know exactly how many kilometers there are. To my chagrin, most people do not remember that there is the bar we are running to. When we stop in front of the bar, I take a look through a windowpane. Fortunately, she is not very full. With a wave I mean to my companions that they should follow me, whatever they do on the spot. It makes it easier for me to still listen to my orders, no matter how much I have already disappointed them. They are always faithful to me and that is exactly what I appreciate about them. When I enter the bar and gesticulate to the waiter that I want the usual, the reassuring feeling finally comes home to me. This place has always been something of a home for me and my friends. As usual, we squeeze together at the table, which we occupy by default at this time of the month. Once we sit down, another waiter comes to us and gives us the food, which I have just ordered for everyone. Fortunately, none of my companions have any special preferences, but always order the same thing that pretty much everyone here knows. Slowly I take off my leather jacket and put it behind me, before reaching for the first onion ring. As I'm about to open the session, however, the bell rings over the door again and my head turns to the source of the noise. Immediately I flinch in shock and make the others with a few words on the new guests attentive. Even my friends are shocked by the sight of the people in the door. Their weapons shine in the dim light. My advisor, Andrew, manages to get back together first. Out of the corner of my eye I see his otherwise dark blue eyes light up and turn my gaze to him. A few seconds later, in the eyes of the others, exactly the same phenomenon is happening and each of us knows exactly what will happen next. With nimble fingers, I pull my folding knife from the side pocket of my black leather jacket and snap it open with a movement of the thumb. The sound sounds in my ears several times and metal again. The excitement causes the hair on my arms to rise and immediately followed by a cold shower. The whir of the arrow rushing at me at high speed gives me the adrenaline kick I needed and ensures that my innate protection mechanism is activated. These moments are just the best.