It’s Tuesday evening, 20 clock. Tourists besiege the cafes in the old town of Lüneburg. No good customer for Khan, who lives by his notoriety. For 26 years, the flower seller turns his rounds almost every night during the week and midnight on weekends to four clock early.In addition to the heavy Blumenberg Khan always carries the story of his success on the lips: How was the Lüneburg institution of strangers, asylum seekers from the businessman. Has five children raised without emphasizing government support, as he never tires of Khan. A daughter is now a pharmacist, the youngest son just travel the world. “For many years I have not,” says the 62-year-old.

In Pakistan, he has repaired fulltime weapons. In Lüneburg he moved into the eighties Rose Business. At that time he was a rarity in the small town. Today competition is lurking everywhere. Official figures on the profession of the mobile Rose seller does not exist, but all the more curious stories. Khan also told them, speaking of mafia structures in the near Hamburg, Rose sellers who do not pay taxes and beggars that ruin the reputation of his profession. Khan has never begged. Khan is subtle.Resigned running shoes and baseball cap, plus an ironed white shirt. Always the same outfit and make a lasting good mood Khan unmistakable. “Well, boss,” a round greets him wearing suits. Khan shines. “Nix shit going on..”: Being interviewed after his, his face darkens Laughter.

“I remain nevertheless always friendly”

A man with a bald patch pulls the wallet from the brown jacket. “Well. A for my wife.”With great care Khan selects an orange rose, then another and another. Four long stem roses he finally pinpoint the beer glasses. “Now he does so again, as if he could not count,” said the man, laughing unnaturally loud. Khan winks at him and reaches for the ten-euro note. “Have a good evening,” he sings goodbye.

Nice customers, he says. But there is still a lot nicer. “My regular customers buy every time they see me, and then the same for all women in the pub.” Khan speaks admiringly about these generous men. Businessmen or lawyers, with lots of money, great need for admiration, and fortunately with sympathy for the tireless Rosenkavalier. “I am a good person and know,” says Khan.

It proposes 22 clock, the clock is ticking. Because with a late hour of the sale goes back. “Too many drunks,” Khan teaches. The do not buy, steal some of his flowers, even berate him. “I remain nevertheless always friendly.” The rebuke him his faith, says the Muslim. And of course the business sense. “If I get angry, word gets around fast.”

10,000 sales mark in the month

Khan brought in the best of times, it sometimes up to 10,000 sales mark in a month. Today he earns less. Runs well, Khan sold 60 roses on the day, on weekends there are often more. At 2.50 euros per rose that makes 150 euros turnover, net purchase price and taxes remain the rose seller per sale tour around 60 to 70 euro profit.

Today Khan has sold only 20 roses. Lousy weather makes the seller responsible today, more often, the world economic crisis to blame. In lawsuits Khan is all builders. “The money does not sit as loose as before.” It’s just after midnight when he enters the pub on his last tour. The crowd is young, Khan’s customers are mostly old.

Nevertheless, the rose seller starts the zigzagging around the tables to be “Good evening,” he harvests everywhere dirty looks and shaking heads. Young men were not Rosenkavaliere because they could not score in the women with it.”Women want the money today prefer to invest in beer,” Khan is convinced.Otherwise he can not explain why a woman scorned his roses themselves.”Huhu, Mr. Khan,” two tables away waving a noisy group of mid-fifties to him, Khan’s mouth formed a wide grin. It always follow the same conversations as the bike was going: “Nothing to do,” complains Khan. Then the business end: “All fresh from Hamburg Wholesale Market” advertises Khan and swirls with the roses around dangerously close in front of the nose of a lady. Amused, she looks back on a limp petal. “If Mr. Khan is lying, you do not even know he is red,” bawls her seatmate. A profitable amusement for Mr. Khan, ten roses remain at the table.

On output it whistles anyone back. The man at the counter wearing tracksuit, two front teeth missing. He called for a blue-white rose, “For the HSV”. Khan sold it a white. On the way to the car begging drunk teens clamoring for a Rose gift. Khan no longer smiles. At its credo but he notes. “Love for all Lüneburg, hatred for none,” says Khan.