Flashback: June 18th, Thursday week ago. I’m in Berlin, in the Kreuzberg district. I keep telling myself it’s work, it’s work, it’s research for Book #4 (more of which another time). Who am I kidding?
I’m strolling along Oranienstraße for a long liquid lunch with two friends at a legendary Turkish establishment called the Hasir. I’ve just reached Oranienplatz when I come upon this grave.
Seriously. A grave, in the pavement, close to the kerb, at the same spot where I hailed a taxi last night to go back to my hotel after a feed of gargle at a place that was – I think – called the Kraut und Rüben. OK, it was that kind of night. Continue reading