This Must Be the Place (II)
I’m a child of the American Midwest, yet I’ve only felt the concept of “home” once; truly felt that this place, these streets, the blood running through them, the words that raise them, the words that defile them, the power that walks and the power that fades, helpless, before a clock in a square. Berlin. Ah, Berlin! I am only my best me in your orbit, your Nollendorfplatz, your Hackescher Markt, your Sanssouci and sans Souci.
Destructive Anachronism 