His own family was a museum of tiny, polite horrors. His mother sprayed air freshener after using the toilet. His father wore pajamas with sleeves even in July. When Lukas accidentally walked into the bathroom while his father was shaving, shirtless, the man flinched as if he'd been shot.
The kiosk belonged to Herr Wegener, a retired train conductor with a face like a crumpled paper bag and the disposition of a gentle walrus. He didn't care what Lukas read. He cared that Lukas paid. fkk magazin
To Lukas, raised in a house where the bathroom door had three locks and his father wore a swimsuit to wash the car, these images were less pornography and more a glimpse of a parallel universe. His own family was a museum of tiny, polite horrors
At home, he hid the magazine under his mattress, between his Asterix comics and a worn-out copy of The Neverending Story . He didn’t look at it for the reasons a boy of thirteen might be expected to. He looked at it for the wide, uncomplicated smiles. For the caption under a photo of a grandmother peeling potatoes: "Even chores are more fun in the sun!" For the classified ads in the back, where families sought other families for "nordic walking and open-air chess." When Lukas accidentally walked into the bathroom while
He bought a pack of gum instead. He walked home along the river, his bare arms swinging. He didn't need the magazine anymore. He had seen the real thing: a man tossing a child, a woman floating, the moon on his own naked skin.