Sunglasses at Five in the Morning

The weekend was too short by about two days. I spent it with Lisa—my future landlady, as it turned out—and her collection of wonderfully deranged friends in Wedding and the streets around it. We brunched properly. Svenja and Meike and I sang sad love songs from Corpse Bride while already drunk, which felt completely appropriate at the time. Then, some hours later, stupid paper games at midnight in Conny’s new apartment, with everyone’s volume settings broken.

At some point I made it to the 2BE Club and ran into Rubi-Rubi-Ruben, who remains, as far as I can tell, the only person on earth willing to pace around a hip-hop club at five in the morning wearing sunglasses. The man has a code.

Side achievements: saved a homeless man’s life (details classified, diplomatic immunity invoked), and finally started writing a book that multiple people have apparently been demanding. At my current pace it should be ready around 2025. I also enacted a formal personal policy: I cannot be held legally responsible by any government on earth for what happens to the next person who misuses the word "creative" in my presence. Any state wishing to pursue charges can get in line.

Nice ceiling in here, by the way. Going to sleep.