Looking for Frieda…

'Are you alright, Bromford Bibble?'

The llama is doing something with something in the penthouse apartment on the roof of the apartment building on 666 Whitaker Lane but I am not paying attention.

'I have seen you have been having some kind of flashback the other day.'

'I've been looking for freedom', I say, 'since I left my hometown.'

'Alright', the animal says.

'I've been looking for freedom. Still it can't be found. How, I ask you, animal, could this strange song about a rich man's son who left his home travelling the country looking for work and his personal freedom have been mistaken for an anthem that helped bringing down the Berlin Wall? That is so ridiculous.'

The llama is looking confused.

'I don't know, dude', it says. 'Or should I call you David from now on?'

'David Hasselhoff', I cannot stop myself. 'The next ridiculousness. How can a country that had so many great composers over the last centuries think that this mediocre actor is a musician or a singer? Laughter. Can you hear the world laugh at us, animal?'

'We could sing 'Frieda' instead of 'freedom' from now on', the animal suggests. 'Could that calm you down?'

Grinding my teeth I start singing…

'One morning in June some twenty years ago

I was born a rich man's son

I had everything that money could buy

But Frieda I had none

I've been looking for Frieda

I've been looking so long

I've been looking for Frieda

Still the search goes on.'

The llama is rolling on the floor laughing.

Today is Monday, the 11th of November 2019.