Everything Fell Apart
Berlin rained all Sunday night—not the gentle kind, the kind that makes everything worse. I woke up already furious that the weekend had vanished, like it never actually happened.
Friday was better. Someone got us on the list for this party at Michelberger. All balloons and lollipops, people I didn’t know. We ended up talking to this guy Peter Imhoff who used to have a talk show. He was fine. There was a girl in a blue hat who made me feel small. I still think about that.
Saturday had a plan for every hour and every plan collapsed. The Ting Tings concert fell through because of my phone. Anne’s Abi exams celebration got cancelled. Scala looked promising until we got there—all the acts sucked. We set up to meet people on Friedrichstraße and instead there was a fight and someone threw up and cops showed up. We’d talked about getting duck masks and just waddling around the city making noise, but we weren’t drunk enough for that to make sense.
So we sat and watched iCarly instead. Ten episodes while a taxi driver who had no idea what he was doing took us around in circles. But somehow we ended up at White Trash, at this club called White Noise, and Maike was there with her crew, and the whole thing turned around. She’s having a birthday party next Friday. Plans fell apart and then worked out anyway, which I guess is how it goes.