Welcome to the rabbit's hole. A blog on pulp.
Right. I’m back in Berlin. This could be a wonderful line if the town I had to leave wasn’t Edinburgh. Not that Edinburgh compares to Berlin in any way, but even then – you leave a lot behind. It might not be the ultimate insight, but one year does not only mark you with all those nice wrinkles that make a middle aged man attractive – you leave marks somewhere as well. And since everything man produces he also seems to see as a sort of possession, I definitely lost some stuff.
(And that doesn’t include the 12-year old whisky bottle those bastards took from me at the check-in. I’d forgotten that one litre of schnaps is definitely more than the 50-something mililitres of liquid you’re allowed to take through the controls. (OK, – since this seems to become a longer story, i’m going to start a new paragraph.)
A n d I find it ridiculous that just after the controls you’re free to buy another bottle. Unfortunately not one that was as good as the one I just got robbed of. I’m sure this bloody security guy just took it because he knew what he held in his hands. Bloody Scots. And sure, how would a duty-free area survive without a security that confiscates every ounce of alcohol before you enter it.
Excuse me. That had to be said. Stream of consciousness it is, isn’t it?)
Anyways… you leave a lot behind. Apart from so obvious things as friends and my Baby … I left home, for example, once again (this seems to develop into my most favorite subject) and the feeling of belonging somewhere. Security also, because suddenly you have to readjust everything – which is language in my case as well – and the side of the street.
You win: a new life.