Berlin based writer. Short stories, flash fiction and the occasional opinion piece.
For us, life is grey skies and struggling pot plants, and they know it.
For us, its swallowing down sickness to sit in a chair and let the screen illuminate our speckled skin.
It’s pressure and guilt and stimulation.
What are we then?
Good enough to become intoxicated but not revolutionise
Bad enough to spray paint but not break our links to the state.
Strong enough to send our bodies into disarray but too weak to build
Just a few months ago, in the depths of the bleak Berlin winter, I joined some friends in a dimly…