Nothing beats this feeling: riding the road and arriving home in my city.
Remembering: more than two decades ago homecoming was like this: passing through lightless grey East Germany (me Westy / Wessi) feeling like a decadent spy, being extremely polite to the border officers who at the slightest grin checked your car for hours … and then … lights at the horizon … civilization … yeah … embrace shiny capitalism cool stinky Westberlin! Yes! I love my home city!
Heilige AVUS, ich erinner mir:
Die Grepo fragte beim Transitübergang doch immer:
Waffen?
Sprengstoff?
Munition?
Funk?
Und einmal ist mir dann doch ein
Nein, Danke.
rausgerutscht.
Aua, Mift.