Nowhere Fast

I bolt out of the S-Bahn with t.A.T.u. pounding in my ears—they’re coming back, trust me, at least in my head—and check the clock. Almost nine. I have no idea where the Ernst-Litfass School is. Thomas already called, impatient. I tell him I’ll be late and start running.

Where though? Left, right, down stairs, across a bridge. The beat keeps pace with my panicked thoughts. Does anything here look like a school? There are kids around but they’re too young. I ask a guy at the gas station and get nothing but a blank stare. A woman at the snack stand takes pity: Go through here, kid. I run past currywurst and Fanta and see it—this massive brownish-orange building. I’m in the cafeteria at ten past nine. It’s absolute chaos. Nobody cares that I’m late. I fill out some forms and realize it wouldn’t have mattered if I’d shown up at ten.

The class is all media designers. Something about it is unsettling. Pretty girls, show-offs, some punks, regular people, that specific smell. I’m suddenly somewhere in my own past, not that long ago. So many of these faces remind me of old friends, people I used to know. I like it. Thomas is tired and in a bad mood. I’m hoping he’s better by the party tonight. If not I’ll get him drunk. Next Wednesday we’re both invited to Scholz & Friends for a conversation, and I’m curious what that’ll be like.