Fear and Loathing in Wedding

Berlin decided to become insufferable overnight. A proper heatwave, the kind where the city smells like hot asphalt and everyone’s shirt is ruined by noon. So Anna, Sladdy, Tomi, Agnes, Anne, Philipp, and I did the only reasonable thing and decamped to a beach bar in Wedding—sand imported, water questionable, mood excellent.

Afterward we assembled a McDonald’s survival kit and planted ourselves in front of the TV, then let the evening dissolve in the Mauerpark with chocolate muffins. Everything up to that point was perfectly ordinary summer stuff.

What happened after that I’m saving for the autobiography. Let’s just say Fear and Loathing in Las Vegas was a light comedy by comparison.