Berlin is mostly flat, but, on its edge, there’s a green hill that offers a view over the city. Many people aren’t aware that it’s actually man made, out of millions of tons of rubble and debris from the war. It’s a popular spot for relaxing and watching the sunset. On Summer nights, it’s the quiet place of choice for our two homeless friends, Hans and Lars, to come for a smoke and indulge in a bit of philosophical banter. The best nights are these, when they’ve come across a bit of weed in exchange for some odd job.
“Cities are like people: surviving a tough life makes them interesting,” says Hans, after lighting his joint and drawing a long puff.
Lars nods in pensive agreement, his eyes caressing the skyline in the distance. “Think she knows us at all?”
“The city? I believe so,” Hans replies with a half-cheeky smile. “She knows everyone, really, by the steps. Everyone has a slightly different gait, you see. And she can tell. Enjoys the tickling of folk pacing around, too.”
Lars grins and the two stay there in silence for a good while, warmed up by a sense of close friendship and the lights of their city below, with its many healed wounds.
(Contribuição para um desafio do Global Writing & Storytelling Group do Internations.)