pull the door behind him like the lid of a suitcase, in which one of the wegschliesst sleep and not think goodbye and never see again not to, and not stair-step yield between two of the pulse, the turn key in the lock and pull off and over the shoulder throw back as the coin in the fountain, heads or tails , and so himself every opportunity to obstruct the return - but the lame comparison. .. any lags comparable to such a future, because one could imagine actually, we would be alone on earth, in a city that is not only asleep, but plundered and depopulated overnight, one could convince themselves indeed, it is moving, slowly, noiseless, cat-like paws on , through the fantastic world of a country scenery, the Berlin only by chance and looks so much like mesmerized and enchanted ...
, and then the frozen brick in chivalry of all these disgusting neo-Gothic churches calm darkness of the remains, no emperor more for Germany and never again perfect weather, though the never-ending fronts of stay Tempelhof airport holding back in the shadows, so that the eagle wall plug to the their origin is not revealed, and the town highway is actually so gray and empty as in the photographs, which earlier on fab ran after midnight, loops, bridges forever same curve entry and exit signs laermschutzwaende and again the speedometer with the needle to eighty, to eighty, my god, what were the times for - you have to ask ourselves again whether berlin really the Promised Land is the will of paradise on earth, and the forward music with trumpets and drums, or only the underdog, that pariah among German with large cities funds at the labor full and empty, and each volume lebensentwuerfe, when I am big I , which will always remain exposé and scenario, the capital of the impostor, free market and free love, and what they just all Friday night to preach in one, if no one listens - you're crazy, my child, you need to berlin .. . and all that then remains is a suitcase in one store room behind the hall, a suitcase on a block-like legs.
then one can draw the jacket tighter around the shoulders, as the imagination as a child, one could in a cloak, a cocoon-Hull quiet out and carry with them by the ordinary of a world-winter evening, it seems that even now an invisible cocoon sink down from night drunken dream lost majority on neck and spine when, after an overnight rainstorm, the track groove in the street lamps light so treacherously Seduces shine like all too familiar, too well-worn tracks, which you can follow, however, blind and blindly, without a single thought of the absent-minded certainties of earlier that pass by and by all so young, we get no longer together , mirage to mirage, what was and what could have been, and it gets caught in them, in all these questions unanswerable, all these little unnoticed choices, it's like that and that the way it is where would have really all be very different, since remains little more than a shrug, but once again it is a lost cause and knows, this "what if" one's whole trip will be sitting in the neck ...
and if seen then the horizon finally a late winter sun and is beyond question is that has now become day and no protective night takes forever, and how the guillotine a verdict of falls thoughts in mind that you travel only if one has a goal and achieve this goal inevitably has to travel, even after this, and when in the first lying red-hot sun-shine the oderbruecke undoubtedly the exceeded limit displays, and then when the bahnhofsgebaeude of Kunowice in the view occurs, this touching symbol of the socialist mission in the province: to our village are nice , and if not it nice, so least advanced, modern, at least concrete design a touch of modern, in that which a superficial impression combines avant-garde with the tangible requirements of industrial mass production, but these are at least able to, only remained neither avant garde nor progress nor industry get here, get off here and stay and bridge the break in the advance fort, continued and no looking back, all the bridges tear behind and only an abandoned bahnhofsgebaeude on a dead track at stopped clock on the outskirts of the province discs, transparent behind untrimmed, transparent up to sky and clouds and horizon, get out here then, and finally, finally the to do what you always dreaming and what one does not: arrive. live his
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