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He made enough money to buy a hotel for his gang. He wanted to buy Dunarea, near the station, wich now lies abandoned. But he had no papers, so he rented a post office under-the-counter. They stayed there for half a year until they were raided by the special police and kicked out by the owner. I was conned. When he saw how many people turned up there he kicked us out and kept the rent money – about 60 million. After that, we found ourselves another place to rent, in a bank. We were conned again. Since I had no lawyers, no papers, no nothing – everybody tried to double-cross me.
He descended in the sewer underneath the Station and invested everything he had in there. He built a social centre that meets the needs of the people around him, and he governed it according to the best communal organizational method: he – the father, provides the cheap drugs, and his assistants, the apostles, hand them out to his followers. The followers bring metal and valuable items in exchange for powders, aurolac, protection, shelter, food and money. Everything gravitates around Bruce Lee.
To the guys around me I’ve said the following: go, rummage through bins. Copper, brass, paper. Go and do this job. Come back to me and I pay you. I buy copper, brass, paint and whitewash. Everything that these people find they bring to me and I pay them. This is how employ them. They are not running around uselessly, they are not out robbing and stealing. They come to me. We live out of garbage, and we steal every now and then.
His assistants are Andrei and Simon , his most trusted men and extra pair of hands he does his business with.
Andrei is the spitting image of Bruce Lee, with rotten teeth and the temper of a rabid pit bull. He had gold, silver, diamonds in his hands and he never cheated me. I won’t even mention money. He had billions, but he never took a penny without asking. You know what he asks for? Juice and those stupid things, energizers.
Simon is skinny, with a Brazilian footballer’s hair style and he looks like the wiser one. Simon can’t be corrupted by the rogues who go to him and demand their right or try to bully him. Wise guys go to them daily demanding their share. The ladder down the hole is under lock and key. There are rogues who want to harm us; they are trying to squeeze money out of the guys. There was an arson attack on us because we wouldn’t pay. They try all sorts of methods to bully us.
e secured the sewer against all kinds of dangers they could confront: police, strangers, all the unwanted persons. Half of the sewer is a lounge for junkies. It’s always packed with people armed with used syringes who are ready to protect Bruce Lee. In the other half, tens of mean dogs guard the bedrooms. You can only crawl in and only if you’re less than 70-80 kilos. The special troops have no chance.
In 2013, the police came with a bulldozer over them. They removed the manhole covers, pepper-sprayed the whole sewer and sent down the police special forces. Bruce Lee and his brigade were suspected of stealing some expensive art from the home of some French people. I had no idea what I had on the wall. It was a valuable antique icon. I didn’t know it was made out of silver and gold. It was a few hundred years old. I bought it from others.
They arrested many junkies who formed a line at the entrance to the sewer trying to protect Bruce Lee. The police confiscated anything they found to be of value: cash, three kilos of copper, brass, paintings. Everything was bought and paid for, I didn’t steal anything! They took everything! To empty the sewer? Maybe I did steal a painting or whatever they said I stole, a plasma. But for them to take away everything?
After the raid the city hall poured concrete over the entrances. hey sealed the manholes and trapped me down here. I almost died, even though I know this sewer so well. But he was prepared: he had a jackhammer, pickaxe and flex. He broke the concrete wall and cut through the steel concrete with the flex. He emerged through the pavement after two days of digging with the pickaxe.
He was arrested and imprisoned for two months. While he was away, martial law was declared in the sewer. Firstly they cut the electricity. Then the hoodlums with the powders arrived and imposed new rules: ‘You want a fix? Then go steal or beg for me.’ All the rules disappeared. It reverted to how it was. Darkness. The rubbish was piling up. The girls were raped and the bosses were bosses only for their own ends. Bruce was released, sorted them out and it all went back to how it was.
Bruce Lee wears tens of army decorations, brooches, bells and key-rings – many are made of solid silver, with semi-precious stones. When he walks or crawls through the sewer you think it’s Santa Claus. All the one hundred dogs that he cares for seem to be hypnotized by the sound of his armour. When he comes out from the underground and crosses the street the dogs get frantic. They bark at the cars and bite out of car parts that get too close to the master.
He looks after the dogs as if they were children. He had them vaccinated and takes them to the vet when they are ill. His favourite is Greta – a Pekingese the size of a loaf of bread. There’s also Albus, a people loving half-breed Labrador. Then we have Bruce Lee’s dog, the leader of the pack and the biggest of them all.

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