I.Punk

The landfill

I spent a part of my childhood on the landfill Schusterkrug. We called the junkyard lovingly Ramscher. There, scrabbling with our muck-rake hooks, we searched for usable trash like badges, cocades, and uniform buttons. We found Nazi sea charts, tombstones, cartridge cases, gun guns made in Israel, armored fist bags - all the muck - and pounded in domestic, military and bloody hospital wastes before the garbage dumps were turned down by bulldozers. There was teeming with rats, crows, and seagulls, which evaporated when we noticed each other. At one point a dead crow was hanging on a wire from a metal plank. Here and there, seagulls and half-decayed rats.

Every time we entered the garbage site, we had to cross the railroad tracks, which were used to transport brand-new tanks by slow-moving trains from Friedrichsort at certain times of the day. The grapevine snails, which we collected and laid on the railroad tracks to make them flattened by the tank transports, had only a few survival chances. Later our junkyard finds were exchanged or sold to other kids from the village while we concealed that they were already in the dirt. Probably the muck-raking in the garbage was a trailblazer for my later passion for punk.