“I hate this fucker!”
Jonathan threw one of the darts as hard as he could, missing the bull´s eye only by a milimetre.
“Fuckgood shot. I could kill him, this little ass.” He threw another one. “Paul, sincerely, I could kill him.”
“Good lord, man, who are you even talking about?”
“Her friggin lecturer. Silke, she keeps raving about him, this punk. Oh, he´s sooo intellectual. He´s sooo interesting. He´s always so well–dressed. Bah!”
He hurled his last dart against the wall.
“If I hear about him just one more time, I swear, Paul, just one more time, I won´t be able to control myself.” He smiled while he said it, but it was not clear what exactly that smile meant. Continue reading