It was probably 1994 or 1995, one of those fantastic years when I was doing absolutely nothing and enjoyed doing so in a super cool fashion; in other words, life was about hanging out, picking up girls, drinking and writing pieces about love, loneliness and despair. Like things that later became lyrics for Gabriel’s One Night Stand.

Sometime about that time, there used to be a weekly film quiz in a local newspaper. Three questions, one lucky winner of a VHS tape. VHS tape, people, as that was well before DVD times. As you surely understand, there was no IMdB, not even mentioning hippie know-it-all Wikipedia at the time either. In fact, there was hardly anything on the Internet at all (as I do not consider Apple, Cisco, Sun, Xerox and Playboy sites relevant to this article). Yes, whoever wanted to enter, they had to know, guess, or dig (oh!) through real heavy weight encyclopaedias.

As it happened, once, there was Cyril Collard’s Savage Nights to win. Some might say a cult movie. By chance — as I’m down to Earth — I knew or figured out the answers. So it made perfect sense that the tape was to be mine. Yet, what if somebody else knew the answers, too? Hm… The more cards sent, the higher the chance the tape would make it my way. Hm…

My parents’ place was a hangout joint. We used to play table tennis downstairs and local version of D&D upstairs. So there were always mates coming in and out. Each of them gladly filled a card for me, no hesitation. Except for Gabriel. While he did, he had a decent whine about one’s limited share of luck and him potentially giving up his fair part in my favour. That reminds me that I must ask him to explain his theory in full for our broad audience one day.

Eagerly, I’m waiting for the following week. Flicking through pages in anticipation — and there it is: Gabriel won me my Savage Nights! I can see his sad eyes to these days. Bleak, gloomy day, we’re sitting in a downtown bar, sipping apple juice, and Gabriel doesn’t have to say anything, telepathy worked rather good those days already. I’m getting a dose of his limited luck theory quietly and wirelessly. He just sacrificed a share of his luck that he didn’t want to. I owe him this, I have to pay him back. Even starring at the glasses is exhausting. Air’s too heavy to breathe. We’re leaving silently against lousy weather.

2007. Gabriel lands in Sydney, bringing me Savage Nights paperback as a present. And when I’m looking at him, I can still see a bleak, gloomy day with ourselves sitting in a downtown bar way across the planet.

He just stopped by to remind me. I have to pay him back. I still owe him a share of his luck.