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.