Hiiiii you Knuffels !!!!



First of all I wish you a happy new year !!!!!



And I don't want to talk a lot, here comes part 2 (with a vvviiiieeeelllll delay !!!!)



Now here I am. In the middle of the airport hall. There is hustle and bustle around me. People with suitcases check in. People greet each other and hug each other. People say goodbye and cry. Employees run around. And in the middle of this hustle and bustle I'm standing. With my black suitcase in hand. Alone.



I take another deep breath and leave the hall behind me. When I leave the airport, the stuffy, exhaust-polluted air hits me. It's raining. What else could one have expected in London? Sun? I notice how a smile crosses my lips at this thought.



"Well then let's go." I say and step towards a yellow taxi. I have absolutely no idea where to start looking.London is huge and there are too many places Sarah can hang out. Where should I start looking? Where should I start my search? I don't even have a clue. Sarah can be anywhere. Suddenly I remember, boiling hot, that I have Sarah's address. Good, I have her address, but who can give me the assurance that Sarah still lives there? None! But at least now I have a clue. But still I start to realize how stupid my idea was. I am here, in one of the largest metropolises in the world, and all by myself. But I will not give up. I don't really like that. And so I knock determinedly on the wet window pane of the taxi. Immediately a somewhat plump man with brown, thinning hair gets out, takes my suitcase, stows them in the trunk and asks me to get in.



"Where do you want to go?" he asks me kindly and looks in the rearview mirror. His brown eyes shine friendly.

Yes where do i want to go I rummage in my backpack and get Sarah's address out. Then I hold it out to the taxi driver. He opens his eyes, but doesn't say a word. That can only be fine with me. I don't feel like asking annoying questions. Alex has already cost me enough nerves. I'm served for today.



The driver starts the car and drives off. While he stops at a red light, he turns around to look at me carefully.



"Do I have something on my face?" I ask irritably and look at him.

"No. I'm sorry. But the address. Do you really want to go there?" he asks me incredulously.

"What's your name?" I ask the driver of the yellow vehicle kindly.

"Martin." is his answer.

"Good Martin. Listen to me carefully. I'm not here in London for fun. I'm looking for someone. And it's your job to get me to my desired destination. Is that clear now? I'm paying you for the drive, not for it they ask me stupid questions.But I can get out and look for a less talkative taxi driver. "I mean irritable and I let myself fall back into the seat.

Martin turns around again and doesn't speak a single word to me. I enjoy the sound that the rain makes when it falls on the roof of the car.



"We're here." Says Martin, gets out quickly, fetches my suitcase, puts it down on the curb, gets back in and drives away with screeching tires.



I just look after him, shaking my head.