It’s Dirk’s trial today.
We discussed all weekend long.
How he got frustrated over his rejected emigration inquiry.
How he wrote that letter to the Bayerische Rundfunk TV station.
He never told me whether he actually sent it or not.
I never told him details about my case.
You got to be careful.
We practiced some more English.
‘Sometimes’ still sounds like ‘summertime’.
I actually like the sound of it and I still don’t correct him.
Today he’s super nervous.
A call boy picks him up.
There is a young dude who doesn’t want to live in a fenced-in country and they don’t let him leave.
When he asks someone for help he’s arrested and jailed.
I have a bad feeling about this.
Baby Schubert is excessively friendly today.
This is as weird as the topics he choses.
Childhood memories, family, friends.
I’m bored out of my socks.
“Is this going somewhere today?”
“You have a good life, rewarding and hopeful.”
“This state is killing it!”
“Don’t you miss your family and friends?”
This goes on for hours, well into the night.
Returning to the cell late.
Dirk is crying.
“2 years and 4 months.”
“That’s not too bad!”
To be honest I was thinking 4 years give or take.
“I didn’t even send the letter, just wrote it.”
Time for a hug.
“Look: they’ll sell you to the West within a year.”
“I can’t be in here for 28 months!”
I better don’t promise anything that I can’t know.
There is more crying during the night.
More frequent light checks.
He’ll be ok.