Wannsee

I’m half-reading Feuchtgebiete, mind wandering through its crude details—shaving, pearls, the whole messy thing—and I set it down to watch Cedric steer the sailboat across the Wannsee. The sun cuts right through the water. Rebecca’s here from Bavaria for the weekend, trying to shake me out of whatever mood I’ve sunk into. Cedric’s got that effortless thing with boats.

We found the real grimy Berlin on Warschauer Straße. Late-night chicken doner at Alexanderplatz, everything dripping with grease. The Subways have a new album and it actually holds up—”Strawberry Blonde” especially. If you haven’t heard it, go listen.

The weekend moved the way these things do, too fast for how much we fit in. Broke some stupid Starbucks habit. Found a copy of Nylon. Ended up talking about how Apple’s whole coolness is leaking away year after year. Everyone’s using the same machines. You feel it. Time for something different. A real shift. Anyway, thanks to Rebecca for dragging me out of my head. See you in Bavaria soon.