Instalment Eleven

When he moved to the city he changed his name, like Bono, and from then on, Zeitgeist as he was now known, led a charmed life. He was always out doing new things, wearing new things, thinking new things. Blonde, German, arrogant, you would hate him if you met him. Only you never will meet him; he was in the clubs you will never be let into, hanging out with people you’ll never meet. Those beautiful people, forever clicking at bartenders and refusing to make eye contact with waiters.

He wasn’t one of the beautiful people. He was the beautiful people’s “beautiful people.” The Beautiful Person. The Inspired Person. They looked to him, though only in the rare moments when they weren’t looking at themselves. They followed him and the world flocked behind.

And he knew it, so he was a dick. He was like the lead singer of a band who doesn’t write the songs or even the lyrics.

And deep down he knew he was a fake. So he started trying to be cool. And that’s when it’s all over, when you try. The world moved on. And he was left as he started, lonely, chubby, little Dieter.