Most of the people I know in Berlin are no Berliners. And that’s not because I dislike the locals, but because it’s rather difficult to find them. My city is the city of everyone.
It was one of those perfect early weekend mornings, when you get out of the club and can smell the fresh air again. I opted to walk home, even though it took an eternity, instead of calling a cab or waiting for the subway. That was the moment when I started dating my city.
Berlin is mean. Every encounter is a new experience and, once trapped, you never want to leave again. I didn’t find a crumbling Colosseum on my way that morning, neither did I see an Eiffel Tower, or anything else that impresses at first glance. Instead, the smell of the cafes still open at 5 am, tired ravers ordering the famous after-party Berliner…
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