Back in Berlin

Just got back to Berlin last Sunday after two weeks down in Bavaria and, I don’t know, I actually missed it. Montana and I had eaten our way through the usual garbage and danced around with whoever showed up, that blur of a weekend, but yeah, the city was still calling me back. Bayern’s not nothing. Berlin’s the real place though.

I should probably thank Deutsche Bahn for still being incompetent enough to occasionally just lose trains, because that’s the only reason I ended up talking to Chloé on the S-Bahn. French exchange student with this soft accent you could listen to forever. We laughed the whole ride, sang a little, worked through her French together. One of those moments that feels whole while it’s happening, you know? Don’t need to think about it afterwards.

Spent the rest of the weekend at a party on the Spree—some open-air thing called Sunday Seance Summer Affair. Frank from iHeartBerlin was there doing his thing, all energy, and Juliane, and we just talked about confetti and slave labor and grilled sausages or whatever seemed important at three in the morning. Frank already knows where to be next weekend. He always does.

Berlin’s where it happens. Everything else is just the dead time between these moments.