We’ve been back in Berlin for two weeks.

And I’ve finally arrived.

Because last night I did something I haven’t done in years, but which I always used to do in Berlin.

I took Manchee for his evening walk yesterday.

No, wait! There’s more.

We’re living in a different part of Berlin this time, so we were exploring. I decided to walk to the next S-Bahn (local rail) station to see if there was anything interesting there.

There wasn’t, to an almost incredible degree.

But we had a fine walk. It’s very green with few people here, so I spaced out to think up my stories. Meanwhile Manchee gave his nose and ears a workout sniffing and listening for the delightfully plentiful rats in the roadside vegetation here.

(We won’t starve when the end days arrive and civilisation collapses.)

That’s when I realised I was doing it again…

Scanning the surroundings to pick out where I’d sleep if I were homeless.

That bridge would keep me dry, but it’d be windy. Those bushes would provide protection from the elements, but not from thugs. I could sleep in that old shed, as long as nobody saw me…

That kind of thing.

I don’t know what it is about Berlin that gets me thinking this way.

I didn’t even realise I did it until after I stopped doing it, and then caught myself starting to do it again.

It doesn’t mean anything, of course, but don’t mention it to Freud or any of those lads, anyway, just in case, alright?

And definitely don’t tell J.R.R. Tolkien!

He’s made enough money out of my family’s misfortunes in the past.

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Chat soon!

Morgan

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