Gerry Bibby, Tomaso De Luca, Davide Stucchi, Nicole Wermers
The traveling salesman W enters the hotel. You can tell that both of them have become outdated. There is not much time left. W has big plans, at least that’s what his upwardly tilted chest is supposed to suggest. The marble floor of the lobby has also been polished up for one last time. The crooked teeth of the old grand piano chatter yellowish and black; important negotiations are no longer conducted here. W is here to close one, perhaps his last, important deal. Import Export. He doesn’t want his partner to notice that he needs the money as urgently as this plaster needs a new coat of paint. His partner is also more of a lover than a business kind, but the other shareholders don’t need to know that. His own footsteps echo as W runs his hands over the wooden tables on his way to the bar. He had been a good carpenter before the money lured him with the houses. He would rather say that he was lured into the houses. Too many beautiful nooks and angles, dark corners that called him into dirty business. What remains are the remnants of bureaucratic entrepreneurship and brittle skin, in which the splinters of his dubious past remain. One more deal, then he leaves. It’s his own decision. He has set the traps for himself. If only all negotiations were as easy as those with oneself. W almost trips over something lying vaguely on the floor. He tries to brace himself against the bar, but only catches a blue dust jacket that has been stretched across the entire bar. Along with the alcoholic inventory, he falls on his face. The tables look much bigger from down here. Everything seems so cramped, there’s no room anywhere. „It’s all full of traps!“ he croaks. W starts to sweat. He pulls at his tie, almost undoing his fly at the same time. If only it weren’t for the enormous female figure lolling on the abandoned serving trolley. Doesn’t anyone work here? She looks directly at him, menacingly. Where is the business, er, love partner when you need one? His first reflex is to bury his face childishly into her breasts. No, we’d rather not, W and the woman think at the same moment. Ashamed, W looks down. He pulls himself through the sticky puddles with his hands, wraps himself in a cocoon of blue net and waits. Text: Nadja Abt, November 2023
