Marcel Winatschek

Last Round in the Ruhr

Bochum on a Thursday night, a string of bars, loud music, and the particular chaos that descends when someone is footing the drinks bill. The Ruhr has always had a talent for that kind of night—former industrial cities with a chip on their shoulder that becomes surprisingly good taste in a loud room. Whatever played, it played loud enough to not care about anything else for a few hours.