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Sunday, February 13, 2005
When in BerlinLast Thursday was a matter of red wine, white beer, little peanut-butter snacks, and an evening of Brecht-Weill and Cole Porter standards in the rear of a smoky East Berlin bar. Sung by a sad-voiced woman who threw in some Tom Waits just to flatter the crowd. Ah, what fun. Except I had too much wine. I wound up in a bone-cold apartment on the western end of Ackerstraße, which used to be divided by the Wall. There was no behavior, as an old friend would have put it -- we were both too drunk. I wavered home in the cold sunshine and managed to teach a midday English class with a minimal headache.
It was all a little too Christopher Isherwood. He had a way of spending time with women like a proper English gentleman, drinking too much and never quite having sex. But then Isherwood was a fruit.
posted by Michael Scott Moore |
9:57 AM
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