The Next Train North

When Marten put out the call for his farewell party, there was no question I was going. Threw myself onto a northbound train on a whim, landed in Rostock, and spent the night getting properly drunk with him and his crowd, losing badly at foosball, and eating my weight in cake and döner at some obscene hour on Saturday morning. Conversations ranged from ticket inspectors to drowned students to the pressing question of whether Berlin design agencies are actually the country’s creative elite. Still no consensus on that last one.

Photos to follow, once Marten finally gets his analog(!) rolls developed. Somewhere on the return journey I ran into my old drinking buddy Kai, which was its own thing entirely. Tonight I’m watching Camp Rock and not apologizing for it.