Page 80 of Back Room Host

I stared at him with wide eyes. “That was nothing? You could seriously harm yourself with that.”

“You already sound like Stoney.”

“What? The long-haired singer? I don’t get it.”

Juri shook his head slowly. “His mother was a junkie. Died just before we met up with him at the Olé-Olé-Bar. I’m just trying not to end up like her.”

“Are you afraid of becoming like her?”

A laugh devoid of humor escaped Juri’s lips as he glanced down at the cigarette between his fingers. “Of course. It’s only a matter of time.”

“Why?”

Juri squirmed under my question, which somehow confirmed to me that it was the right one. “I’m twenty-three. At best, I can still do this job for another ten years. By then, I’ll be old. I’ve sent out over fifty job applications for an apprenticeship in the past two weeks. As of this morning, I’ve already received thirty rejections. Not even a recommendation letter from one of my clients made a difference. They only see my age, the significant gap in my resume, and then I’m immediately sorted out.”

“What would you like to do? Apart from all the requirements you’d have to meet.”

“No idea,” he said softly, picking at his thumb. “If I knew that, maybe I’d be one step further, but the fact is, it doesn’t matter. In the end, I’ll probably end up cleaning toilets.”

Excuse me?I didn’t want to go into that. “But let’s say you had one wish. What would it be?”

“I’m empty, Luca. The past few years have left more marks than you might imagine.”

I wasn’t going to settle for that. “No. That’s not true. You’re constantly doing something. What about this photo blog?”

Juri shrugged. “Just a hobby to pass the time here.”

I had never heard him speak with such resignation before. Surprisingly, it made me angry. A desire to help him ignited within me, and suddenly, I knew what Juri needed.

“You’re coming with me to training tomorrow. Take some photos. By now, you probably have the entire apartment captured. A change of scenery will do you good. And Dario knows about muscle building. Maybe he can show you some exercises for your leg or foot.”

“Dario?”

“My trainer. He’s cool. I’m sure he won’t mind if someone comes to photograph the studio. The pictures on his website are just old and awful.”

“I’m not …”

“No arguments. I still have my trial night at the Olé-Olé-Bar tomorrow, and there’s a concert at Exil on Saturday. But otherwise, we can do something over the weekend. Go to the lake or to the zoo.”

“It’s winter. And the weather isn’t exactly …”

“Even better, then there will be few people.”

Juri’s expression was priceless. I believe he didn't argue because he recognized that some fresh air would benefit him. Despite knowing it might accelerate his recovery and potentially hasten his departure, I pushed aside the thought of its implications.

I had to admit, I was enjoying my time with him.

27

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Juri

Luca didn’t make empty promises; he actually dragged me to training on Thursday. I met Dario, who generously allowed me nearly two hours of unrestricted photography. Witnessing Luca’s intense training regimen was eye-opening. His dedication was evident as he effortlessly breezed through exercises that would have left me gasping for breath. From skipping rope for ten minutes to pounding the punching bag, his focus was undeterred. Even during sparring sessions, he maintained an impressive level of concentration, although his occasional smiles in my direction caught me off guard.

I took numerous photos of Luca and the other participants in the studio. Dario gave me full creative freedom, and he intended to obtain consent forms from the members I photographed before publishing their photos on the studio’s website.

The afternoon brought clear skies and sunlight streaming through the windows, providing the perfect opportunity to experiment with different techniques. I seized the chance to explore concepts I had only read about in photography blogs. I immortalized the interplay of light and dust particles in the air and experimented with long exposure shots near the ring, capturing the graceful movements of the fighters. Before I knew it, time had flown by, and I was lost in the joy of artistic expression.

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