Heat wave

There was a wave that rose and fell a little, rose again, then fell. Its period was a couple of months. At its hottest it was 40°C in Berlin. The parks in the city parched to straw and the birds started falling out of the trees. The city still bumped with music as it always does in the long, long days of summer that blend into one another.

Along with the mercury, social gatherings surged upward from the dark trough of winter time here, to a place where every day is a free association of this and that wine bar terrace or house guest. The World Cup formed a spine in it. Every fixture was a two-part open invitation to immigrants from different parts of the world to come together and shout at something.

Semi-final, final, done. After two days of thunderstorms the humidity finally collapsed. It’s 13°C outside. All of this done, and still, still, the thing I’ve been waiting on, trying to distract myself from, is still to be waited on. Still just around the corner. Still just another two weeks.