I had one of those weird dreams last night. One of those strange dreams you only dream when you are not at home. When you’re asleep in your old bed in your old home at your parents’ place where the past is always present.
I was in Berlin, sitting on a hill overlooking the east of the city. I met an old friend of mine there that I haven’t seen for ages. In my dream he was very lost. Lost like someone that has taken too many drugs and experienced too many bad things and can’t adapt to „normal“ life anymore.
We spent some time in his run-down flat lying on his bed smoking cigarettes, talking. We were very young.
Later, he showed me around the house, an occupied 1980s Kreuzberg building. Artists were working in dark studios. There were workbenches all over the place.
It was good to see him again.