Small beer

A German TV show features a fluent argument between the moderator and a highly articulate women in her twenties who appears to advocating the rationing of television. Tatort comes as a relief. I fight the lure of the bar. The weather has changed again and today it is summer.

Two nights lost to Der Rote Rose, on the first I met an interesting woman and later at Roses, an interesting man. Two lost nights, ich sphrechen mein shrecklich Deutsche in der nacht.

R, in his flamboyant hat, the brim snapped back, a busted flush, eine bissen persiflage. R, with his fast mouth and gleaming gold tooth, high-fiving me and laughing. J taking mysterious notes – a town plagued by furtive writers.

For a city so in love with death, Berlin offers surprising warmth. I am beginning to suspect that it flirts with death, Mexico am Spree. Nostalgia ain’t what it used to be here and even though I was evicted by Gabrielle and stumbled off into the dawn I felt the first warmth of the sun on my face in Gorlitzer Park and when I finally got home Ich shreibt.

Flint said something about the four constituent parts of the message, the sender, the code, the receiver – but I didn’t catch the fourth, perhaps it was intention.

Now my addled brain needs sleep and there is only German TV for company but even now, even now, der Berliner luft geffelt mir gut. Yesterday I ate ice- cream with Tom. Today I walked across the park at dusk and around Schonlein Strasse ins eine Teufel’s kries, an ill-considered dog leg that found me by the canal where the Kiez comes to play boule and eat. I saw a man explaining a broken helicopter to a child. Away from the compass of the Emmaus-Kirche I am soon lost, unable to connect this area to my destination, Another Country in Gneisenauer Strasse.

I call it quits again, too late to show up for dinner and head back to Kottbuser Tor and the familiar U-bahn ride which even tonight makes me smile like an imbecilic child.

Yesterday evening I told Flint a story about an old man I had seen in the street. Lost in thought as usual I was walking down Weiner Strasse at dusk when I saw a little old man trying to get my attention. I went over to him and he pointed up towards the sky indicating a half full bottle of bear perched on a ledge that was just beyond his reach. Handing it to him the look of joy on his face was something I will never forget.