Drive.

Metis is my 7-year old nephew from New Zealand. His voice is calling out the numbers as the steadily ascending needle of my speedometer passes them – 100, 110, 120, …, it moves from “fast” to “ludicrous” into “unspeakable”. Metis, the first sensible male younger than 18 to share my enthusiasm of BMW’s. Apparently he first didn’t care about cars at all – and then he heard the sound of six German cylinders revving their way into an adrenalin rush. So we love each other and together we love my car. He’s smiling next to me as I push even faster – the road is empty enough and we go past “unspeakable” into almost creating a sonic boom. The audi Q7 behind us sticks remarkably close and one minute later Metis is patiently explaining the second police officer that grass is always green in New Zealand while I am going through my trunk with the first police officer, looking for registration papers. That guy knows his movies – he quotes Intouchables. He can’t take away my driver’s license as I don’t have it on me. He agrees that 7-year old nephews need to be shown just how fast a BMW can go and a short while later I drive on, without a fine, with a stupid grin that I’m trying to suppress and a recommendation on where to go in Germany next time. I tell Metis: “It’s because you’re such a good kid that they let us off!”. He knows better: “No. It’s because of the ALS and because he likes New Zealand”. We have a nice story to tell our parents when we get home.