First Letter, January 13

Dear Berlin,

Tonight I get off my Fernbus at Südkreuz, and hop on the S-Bahn ring in the direction of home, S41.

It’s late. It’s cold. I’m tired.

At Bundesplatz, I have to change trains. It takes me two tries to find the correct direction of the U9 and I find myself outside at street level, searching for the beacon blue U.

I have never gotten off at that particular station before, but suddenly I feel a surge of affection for you. After spending a day in Dresden, the smell of the air feels right.

I hear three laughing men before I see them, friends, holding more than they can carry as they leave the Bunde<s>platz Späti. The center grapheme of the sign is enclosed in the green logo of the S-bahn. A kitschy pun for a store name, but I love it. I think to myself, very Berlin, oder?

I breathe in the air, the air which smells like you. I love the way the store feels small, as their laughter and the lights get swallowed by the night. I make a mental note to come back to this corner, to see what there is to see, to see it in daylight.

I make a mental note to write you a love letter.

Yours,