I find it hard to believe that this city and its places can be loved just for what they are. No. I think the love for a place only comes with a story or an event that takes place there. That makes the love to a place so much more fragile than to a human being, because every idiot can just march in and leave a bad memory. Of course I am talking about my beloved Rigaer Strasse, that I already wrote about a while back. Here’s to the tragic end of the story.
You know the problem. After a perfectly innocent and casual make-out session with a cute guy you kind of feel the urge to see him again, but you don’t want to give him the impression you’re running after him. And anyway it would be totally up to him to call you. In my case I had the fortunate advantage of knowing that he lived on the Rigaer Strasse, just as I do, only at the other end of it. This opened up a whole bouquet of opportunities for me.
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