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      "body": "<html>\n<p><img src=\"http://i.imgsafe.org/46702e1dde.png\" width=\"624\" height=\"830\"/></p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p>Introduction <br>\n<br>\nI was travelling in Europe when I met a distraught character in a Hotel lobby as I was waiting for another friend. He was arguing with the staff about something and a few minutes later he was carrying his backpack down the stairs as if he was being thrown out. I had to ask Him what the hell was going on. He was two meters tall, skinny and young looking and at the same time he had a few facial features of an old man. He had a baby face with a fifty year old looking skin, even though he was probably only thirty. He reluctantly told me that the hotel just threw him out for no reason at all. It soon became clear that he had already moved on and probably forgot himself why they had told him to leave. &nbsp;<br>\n<br>\nWe started talking about where to meet girls and after that he ended up staying in my rental apartment doing drugs for about a week. As a writer I immediately realized that his recent past was quite unusual. &nbsp;After a couple of days of gathering vague clues and hints within the mist of hallucinogenics I finally got enough guts to ask if I could interview him. After a whole lot of convincing and some begging I rigged up my little microphone in the living room and as a routine began turning it on whenever we were hanging out. <br>\n<br>\n Due to the nature of this story the names have been changed. Besides that this is what he told me in pretty much this order. I chose the name Benny as his alias. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;<br>\n<br>\n<br>\n<br>\n1 <br>\n<br>\nThey wanted to steal my very last pastry <br>\n<br>\nI could still hear the cops behind me. The well trained police force of something up in northern Sweden turned out to have more power in their vocal chords than in their feet. I knew the terrain by heart and even I had trouble running between the pines, leaping over the creeks, avoiding the pockets of air underneath the moss under my soles. I’m a tall guy and I’m skinny as hell. My blue jeans and my black hoodie where by this point already torn by the branches and so where my hands and face. I’d pulled the hoodie over my head to protect my neck, and yes I did come to think of the rap song as I did it. I had the song in my head hyping me up enough to take a leap over an ants nest. <br>\n<br>\nIn my left hand I was carrying the battery charger belonging to the Android phone in its original box that I was carrying in my right. Those two things where all I had time to grab when the cops entered my front yard. I didn’t even have to break a window like in the movies. I simply grabbed the box, the charger, opened the window in the back and took off through the woods from the backside of my house. It might sound ridiculous but you have to move like a deer or an elk when you are running through the woods and always have your feet constantly ready for surprises - a sort of relaxed state in the ligaments while the muscles are working with full intensity. I had been doing it regularly for the past two months as my body started to shut down from inactivity during the winter. My new found hobby in outdoor exercising was saving my skinny ass. I could go on running for miles if I had to. Three months earlier I would have passed out right about at this point. But I kept on running for a good 45 minutes before I had to stop for the first time. <br>\n<br>\nWell, my house wasn’t really a house, more like a really advanced and comfortable shed. Very simple and at the same time all that I needed. You see, I moved up to the north, a seven hour drive from Stockholm straight north, to escape the physical threat of being killed. At that point I didn’t care about comfort; it was a one hundred percent safety issue. Where could I be safe? Where could they never find me like they found Jörgen? Where could I start over and become at least partially self sustainable until all of this shit cools down? Could I perhaps make some big money during the meantime? Well, if I had time to reflect on all of this at that moment, I would’ve found it ironic that I was running for my freedom, away from that very same place that I’d chosen as a haven. I should’ve realized I’d accomplished the impossible by actually lasting a year and a half up there. But I couldn’t see it in any other way than a big failure to have the cops bust my door in. <br>\n<br>\nI had all the time in the world to figure out how to make a living up there, and of course I had to choose the fast money. Not only that - I of course had to turn greedy. Greed – the oh so obvious pitfall for any illegal business. I mean, sure, it will get you there in the short run. It’s more of a question of where do you go from there on? When you finally have the fifty million euros worth of crypto currencies, what do you do next? Do you realize how many people you’re pissing off merely by owning that kind of money? It felt like everywhere I turned everybody wanted not only a piece of my cake, they wanted to destroy the bakery and steal my very last pastry! I couldn’t allow it to happen. It was way too much money to just accept the faith that was crashing down in front of my feet. I had to do everything I could to put all of that money into safety. This could have been the moment where I didn’t want to be a drug dealer anymore -needless to say I felt the complete opposite. <br>\n<br>\nI still had twelve kilograms of high quality cannabis buds underneath my kitchen floor. It was left over from my previous season. I got rid of 48 kilograms before I got so in to crypto currencies that I sort of just left it there. The greenhouse had a couple of hundred seedlings in it, growing at three different cycles with one week in between. A few minutes away I had two fields with at least 400 plants on each field, maturing and basking in the sun. That’s a thousand plants growing from seed, the same amount of trees I grew the season before that. I had estimated a higher amount of product but I could sell it for a higher price than I expected, and still be the cheapest producer out there. So, the first year was nothing but a success. Anyway, that’s enough weed to do more time than I could take. Sure, keep me in jail for a day or two, no worries. But after two weeks I break down in tears. I can't handle it. It would quickly destroy me, I was sure of that. <br>\n<br>\nMy original plan that first year was to get ten kilograms of pure dried and trimmed bud. I got sixty. It really escalated. I remember in the planning stage asking myself: why not overdo it? So I ordered a thousand seeds and for that I got 200 additional for free – I will get back to that. I estimated the value of the bag of seeds as a finished, dried and manicured product. I came to the number 3 million Swedish kronor, which is a little less than 300.000 euro. I really liked that particular number. It was… enough. I never aimed for more than that! I got down on all four, right beside a creek, and put my entire face right down in the stream. I took a few sips out of the palm of my hand and took a few deep breaths. <br>\n<br>\nThe phone was still intact. That was the most important thing. On that android phone I hade copies of private keys to Bitcoin wallets. Those wallets had a total value of fifty million euro. More or less. The sound of a twig snapping was all I needed to start running again. I ran towards the bridge. I ran for another good fifteen minutes, fueled by my oat meal breakfast, adrenaline and some anger. <br>\n<br>\nThe strong midday sun hit the pavement on the bridge only to get cooled down by the breeze from the deep river pass. The slope was to steep and I lost grip when I took a step onto a round rock. It rolled forward a bit and then plunged backwards. I landed on my arm and began rolling down the slope like if I was doing a jackass stunt. When I opened my eyes I was laying in a cloud of dust. I lost my breath and I couldn’t get up on my feet again for a while. I might even have passed out for a moment. Next thing I knew I could see the bridge ahead of me. It’s barely fifty meters long, passing over the Indals river. The Indals river drags you down to the bottom with no mercy, it’s a well known fact, and it doesn’t let you go until you get spit out like an old chewing gum on the other side of the power plant turbines. Even elks gets pulled down by those forces. My ankle was messed up pretty bad but I could still stand on it. I had to slow down. I had to focus and figure out where to go next. My first stop would have to be the nearest city; Sundsvall, about 90 kilometers away. I tried to calculate how long that 90 minute drive would take on foot. I could get to Dinos place in Sundsvall and from there on… I’d figure something out. When I was half way across the bridge I could see the patrol car of the police force unit of whatever approaching. Within seconds they where barricading the bridge with guns pointing at me. I remember thinking that I was fucking done. &nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;2 The Standoff I took the train from Stockholm to Gävle only two days after Jörgen was shot. I had no idea I wouldn’t see Stockholm again in over a year and a half. The longest I had been away from Stockholm where probably the three week summer camp in my early teens. It was the kind of summer camp you didn’t want to go to - more like a preparation for jail. The older kids all brought their own products to introduce to the young ones, trading bags of chips and a soda for a “half”. To get a big one you had to steal a jar of peanut butter or something like two large soda bottles. That became my introduction to the trade. I was eleven years old when I bought one half of a spliff with a soda and a chocolate bar only to sell it moments later to another kid for a soda and two chocolate bars. I’ve been doing pretty much the same thing ever since. I had my hands in the air, still holding both the battery charger and the phone, and as I was leaning down to face the ground I heard the screeching tires of another car. I heard doors opening, a dog barking, and a very familiar voice. They where three guys this time, wearing sunglasses and hunting gears again, clocking their rifles and, just as he had promised, pointed them once again at me. They kept screaming to each other to drop their weapons. The asphalt was burning my stomach through my t-shirt. I had to roll over on my back, so I did. I heard one shot fire. Two shots fire, then three and four. I kept rolling myself towards the edge of the bridge. They kept on screaming as they were shooting. Then I hit my forehead in one of the poles, right by the edge, and fell down in to the cool water and was pulled down by the powerful streams. It was actually a quite lovely feeling until I realized I had no control. The Indals river is so deep that I had no fear of shallow rocks. A broken arm at that moment would mean a lot of pain and most likely death. Apparently a person can hold his breath much longer than one might think, as long as you don’t get water into your lungs. Cold water obviously acts much deadlier than my particular midday swim in July. One gasp of air was all I needed for one kilometer of downstream swimming. I had my eyes open in the dark brown water, and when it got shallower it had more of a cepia- or yellow tone in it. Soon I was able to locate rocks on the bottom and put my head over water. I must have looked like a wet raccoon when I stepped on to land. My shoes where sinking in to the mud. My forehead was bleeding. I was hyperventilating and I threw up. I only had one thing in my mind. I tore open the box and took the android phone out of it. I opened the back of it, took the battery out and placed them on the dry patch of grass facing the sun. I couldn’t go back to my house. I could probably go back to Stockholm for a while, but not for long. Lee would find me and probably kill me just out of principles. I had to go to Sundsvall. That was my only option. I had to go to Dino and explain the whole thing. He could help me out with getting the android dry as well. Most importantly I knew he had lots of cash that I was hoping that I could buy from him.<br>\n I took my clothes of and passed out in the shade from a birch. To explain Dino we probably have to go way back to when he was starting out as a professional online card player. It went well the first few years and when the opponents surpassed him he instead became a dope selling part-time welder. Needless to say his momma was so proud she kicked him out on his eighteenth birthday. I know that broke his heart but that’s a whole different story. This guy never smiles and never fully opens his eyes. I wasn’t sure where he really was, you know, mentally, but I heard he was doing great financially and that was more than I could wish for. When I woke up I’d been chewed on like a banquette. The wide range of different bite marks was covering my right side. I had to get the hell out of the woods. My clothes where still soaked. No matter how much I twisted and pulled the fabric I couldn’t get them dry. The midday had become early evening. I started to climb up the slopes towards the main road, towards the gas station. The gangly fence was about as tall as my height. I grabbed it and shook it as hard as I could. I got up on the top of the fence in three steps. My jeans got causht in the wire and for a moment I was hanging with my ass up and my face down. I then dropped down on that very same face. My sneakers made a squishing sound on the tile floor. I left a trail of water drips and muddy shoeprints behind me. I asked the cashier if I perhaps could use their rest room. She looked at me like if I was a ghost. <br>\n<br>\nThe bathroom had one of those disgusting hand fans. I was blow drying my socks when I saw the police car parking right outside. I bolted in to the store with my wet socks in my back pocket. I grabbed a plastic bag and grabbed a bottle of water, some type of candy bar and some band aids. I promised the cashier to pay her back the next time, and then I once again took off on foot. &nbsp;</p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p><br></p>\n<p>&nbsp;&nbsp;&nbsp;</p>\n</html>",
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      "body": "2\n\nThe Standoff\n\nI took the train from Stockholm to Gävle only two days after Jörgen was shot. I had no idea I wouldn’t see Stockholm again in over a year and a half. The longest I had been away from Stockholm where probably the three week summer camp in my early teens. It was the kind of summer camp you didn’t want to go to - more like a preparation for jail. The older kids all brought their own products to introduce to the young ones, trading bags of chips and a soda for a “half”. To get a big one you had to steal a jar of peanut butter or something like two large soda bottles. That became my introduction to the trade. I was eleven years old when I bought one half of a spliff with a soda and a chocolate bar only to sell it moments later to another kid for a soda and two chocolate bars. 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      "body": "2\n\nThe Standoff\n\nI took the train from Stockholm to Gävle only two days after Jörgen was shot. I had no idea I wouldn’t see Stockholm again in over a year and a half. The longest I had been away from Stockholm where probably the three week summer camp in my early teens. It was the kind of summer camp you didn’t want to go to - more like a preparation for jail. The older kids all brought their own products to introduce to the young ones, trading bags of chips and a soda for a “half”. To get a big one you had to steal a jar of peanut butter or something like two large soda bottles. That became my introduction to the trade. I was eleven years old when I bought one half of a spliff with a soda and a chocolate bar only to sell it moments later to another kid for a soda and two chocolate bars. 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      "body": "2\n\nThe Standoff\n\n\nI took the train from Stockholm to Gävle two days after Jörgen was shot. I had no idea I wouldn’t see Stockholm again in over a year and a half. The longest I had been away from Stockholm where probably the three week summer camp in my early teens. It was the kind of summer camp you didn’t want to go to, more like a preparation for jail. The older kids all brought their own products to introduce to the young ones, trading bags of chips and a soda for a “half”, which was a small spliff. To get a big one you had to steal a jar of peanut butter or something like two large soda bottles. \n\nThat became my introduction to the trade. I was eleven years old when I bought a half with a soda and a chocolate bar only to sell it moments later to another kid for a soda and two chocolate bars.  \n\n\n\n--- Full chapter release Thursday July 21st!\n--- See chapter 1 and the introduction to the series @congratsbenny blog posts.\n\n\nKeep on writing!\n\nJL",
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      "body": "Thanks for a good read on writing! I see myself in so much of what you are describing. \nI have a “pointer” that I would have given myself when I gave up on my second attempt at writing a novel. I was looking way too much at what other people did. I got jealous of my favourite authours instead of inspired! And anything I read that I actually thought was bad also turned me off from writing. I was looking for inspiration, good advice, the best ways to do it. I read books on creative writing, I watched lectures online. Eventually I forgot all about the fun of writing. I mean, when I was ten I made my first book by folding pieces of paper and stapled them together. I wrote the stories and drew the pictures and I remember getting completely lost in it. That, I feel, is the essence of what any writer should strive for.\n  Looking forward reading your stuff!\nJL",
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      "author": "congratsbenny",
      "body": "@@ -732,16 +732,17 @@\n est.  %0A%0A\n+%0A\n In my le\n@@ -1140,16 +1140,17 @@\n house.%0A%0A\n+%0A\n It might\n@@ -1792,16 +1792,17 @@\n time.%0A %0A\n+%0A\n Well, my\n@@ -2773,16 +2773,17 @@\n n.%0A    %0A\n+%0A\n I had al\n@@ -3767,16 +3767,17 @@\n site. %0A%0A\n+%0A\n I still \n@@ -4741,16 +4741,17 @@\n  that.%0A%0A\n+%0A\n My origi\n@@ -5298,16 +5298,17 @@\n that! %0A%0A\n+%0A\n I got do\n@@ -5773,16 +5773,17 @@\n e.  %0A  %0A\n+%0A\n I ran fo\n@@ -6378,16 +6378,17 @@\n ment. %0A%0A\n+%0A\n Next thi\n@@ -6746,16 +6746,17 @@\n rces. %0A%0A\n+%0A\n My ankle\n@@ -7126,16 +7126,17 @@\n ut.   %0A%0A\n+%0A\n When I w\n@@ -7364,16 +7364,17 @@\n done.%0A%0A%0A\n+%0A\n --------\n@@ -7469,16 +7469,17 @@\n ------%0A%0A\n+%0A\n --- I ho\n",
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      "author": "congratsbenny",
      "body": "Thank you for the RT!\n\nI just have to tell a story when I find a good one. And this one is insane.",
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      "author": "bitcoinmeister",
      "body": "Thanks! Another way of saying things is that Steemit is a cryto-platform for the current real world while Ethereum is a crypto-invention for the future technical world. I think Steemit's time is here, while Ethereum's time is at some point in the unknown future when many many more people are using Bitcoin.",
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      "author": "congratsbenny",
      "body": "Man that's some real word of wisdom right there!",
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      "author": "congratsbenny",
      "body": "That was a heart warming read. Please keep writing. All the best from Sweden",
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      "author": "bitcoinmeister",
      "body": "Cool idea to post your writing in a format where people have to keep coming back for more and to make it an exclusive to Steemit. You won't be the last to try this technique out.  It was also a good idea to Tweet it out to me or else I never would have found it. I rewteeted it of course. My latest Steemit post is here:  https://steemit.com/steemit/@bitcoinmeister/is-steem-the-non-technical-ethereum-rival-of-bitcoin-will-steemit-be-the-spark-that-starts-the-rush-of-regular-people-into-the",
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      "author": "congratsbenny",
      "body": "@@ -12,23 +12,8 @@\n nny \n-- a crypto tale\n %0A%0AI \n",
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      "author": "congratsbenny",
      "body": "@@ -7674,16 +7674,48 @@\n blog for\n+ the introduction to the series,\n  upcomin\n",
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      "author": "congratsbenny",
      "body": "@@ -7646,35 +7646,49 @@\n  to \n-come back soon for teasers,\n+take a quick peek at my blog for upcoming\n  art\n",
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      "body": "1\n\nThey wanted to steal my very last pastry\n\n\n\nI could still hear the cops behind me. The well trained police force of something up in northern Sweden turned out to have more power in their vocal chords than in their feet. I knew the terrain by heart and even I had trouble running between the pines, leaping over the creeks, avoiding the pockets of air underneath the moss under my soles. I’m a tall guy and I’m skinny as hell. My blue jeans and my black hoodie where by this point already torn by the branches and so where my hands and face. I’d pulled the hoodie over my head to protect my neck, and yes I did come to think of the rap song as I did it. I had the song in my head hyping me up enough to take a leap over an ants nest.  \n\nIn my left hand I was carrying the battery charger belonging to the Android phone in its original box that I was carrying in my right. Those two things where all I had time to grab when the cops entered my front yard. I didn’t even have to break a window like in the movies. I simply grabbed the box, the charger, opened the window in the back and took off through the woods from the backside of my house.\n\nIt might sound ridiculous but you have to move like a deer or an elk when you are running through the woods and always have your feet constantly ready for surprises - a sort of relaxed state in the ligaments while the muscles are working with full intensity. I had been doing it regularly for the past two months as my body started to shut down from inactivity during the winter. My new found hobby in outdoor exercising was saving my skinny ass. I could go on running for miles if I had to. Three months earlier I would have passed out right about at this point. But I kept on running for a good 45 minutes before I had to stop for the first time.\n \nWell, my house wasn’t really a house, more like a really advanced and comfortable shed. Very simple and at the same time all that I needed. You see, I moved up to the north, a seven hour drive from Stockholm straight north, to escape the physical threat of being killed. At that point I didn’t care about comfort; it was a one hundred percent safety issue. Where could I be safe? Where could they never find me like they found Jörgen? Where could I start over and become at least partially self sustainable until all of this shit cools down? Could I perhaps make some big money during the meantime? Well, if I had time to reflect on all of this at that moment, I would’ve found it ironic that I was running for my freedom, away from that very same place that I’d chosen as a haven. I should’ve realized I’d accomplished the impossible by actually lasting a year and a half up there. But I couldn’t see it in any other way than a big failure to have the cops bust my door in.\n    \nI had all the time in the world to figure out how to make a living up there, and of course I had to choose the fast money. Not only that - I of course had to turn greedy. Greed – the oh so obvious pitfall for any illegal business. I mean, sure, it will get you there in the short run. It’s more of a question of where do you go from there on? When you finally have the fifty million euros worth of crypto currencies, what do you do next? Do you realize how many people you’re pissing off merely by owning that kind of money? It felt like everywhere I turned everybody wanted not only a piece of my cake, they wanted to destroy the bakery and steal my very last pastry! I couldn’t allow it to happen. It was way too much money to just accept the faith that was crashing down in front of my feet. I had to do everything I could to put all of that money into safety. This could have been the moment where I didn’t want to be a drug dealer anymore -needless to say I felt the complete opposite. \n\nI still had twelve kilograms of high quality cannabis buds underneath my kitchen floor. It was left over from my previous season. I got rid of 48 kilograms before I got so in to crypto currencies that I sort of just left it there. The greenhouse had a couple of hundred seedlings in it, growing at three different cycles with one week in between. A few minutes away I had two fields with at least 400 plants on each field, maturing and basking in the sun. That’s a thousand plants growing from seed, the same amount of trees I grew the season before that. I had estimated lesser amount of product but I could sell it for a higher price than I expected, and still be the cheapest producer out there. So, the first year was nothing but a success. Anyway, that’s enough weed to do more time than I could take. Sure, keep me in jail for a day or two, no worries. But after two weeks I break down in tears. I can't handle it. It would quickly destroy me, I was sure of that.\n\nMy original plan that first year was to get ten kilograms of pure dried and trimmed bud. I got sixty. It really escalated. I remember in the planning stage asking myself: why not overdo it? So I ordered a thousand seeds and for that I got 200 additional for free – I will get back to that. I estimated the value of the bag of seeds as a finished, dried and manicured product. I came to the number 3 million Swedish kronor, which is a little less than 300.000 euro. I really liked that particular number. It was… enough. I never aimed for more than that! \n\nI got down on all four, right beside a creek, and put my entire face right down in the stream. I took a few sips out of the palm of my hand and took a few deep breaths. The phone was still intact. That was the most important thing. On that android phone I hade copies of private keys to Bitcoin wallets. Those wallets had a total value of fifty million euro. More or less. The sound of a twig snapping was all I needed to start running again. I ran towards the bridge.  \n  \nI ran for another good fifteen minutes, fueled by my oat meal breakfast, adrenaline and some anger. The strong midday sun hit the pavement on the bridge only to get cooled down by the breeze from the deep river pass. The slope was to steep and I lost grip when I took a step onto a round rock. It rolled forward a bit and then plunged backwards. I landed on my arm and began rolling down the slope like if I was doing a jackass stunt. When I opened my eyes I was laying in a cloud of dust. I lost my breath and I couldn’t get up on my feet again for a while. I might even have passed out for a moment. \n\nNext thing I knew I could see the bridge ahead of me. It’s barely fifty meters long, passing over the Indals river. The Indals river drags you down to the bottom with no mercy, it’s a well known fact, and it doesn’t let you go until you get spit out like an old chewing gum on the other side of the power plant turbines. Even elks gets pulled down by those forces. \n\nMy ankle was messed up pretty bad but I could still stand on it. I had to slow down. I had to focus and figure out where to go next. My first stop would have to be the nearest city; Sundsvall, about 90 kilometers away. I tried to calculate how long that 90 minute drive would take on foot. I could get to Dinos place in Sundsvall and from there on… I’d figure something out.   \n\nWhen I was half way across the bridge I could see the patrol car of the police force unit of whatever approaching. Within seconds they where barricading the bridge with guns pointing at me. I remember thinking that I was fucking done.\n\n\n------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------\n\n--- I hope you enjoyed the first chapter of Congrats Benny! ---\n--- The second chapter The Standoff will be published on Thursday July 21st. Only here on Steemit! ---\n --- Make sure to come back soon for teasers, articles on creative writing and more! ---\n\n\nJL",
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