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06/28/01
-----Original Message----- The worst thing about reading On The Road is the fact that for days afterwards, you feel like you can only write in the voice of Kerouac. It is so insistent and eager and overwhelming that it overtakes you. This is, of course, a high compliment, but it's annoying at the same time. I am struggling to restore my own voice. That said, I've taken to Berlin like a goldfish to a big fat bowl of room temperature water. Everything is nice and civilized here (the transportation system completely rocks!), which I really appreciate. Hopefully my time here will help ease the transition back to New York a bit. Around the corner from my hotel (Love the room, by the way. Just give me any sort of balcony and honest to goodness windows and sunlight, and I'm happy. And, consistent with every other room I've had in Europe, it's about half the size of my apartment in New York. It makes me giddy.) there is a cool tapas bar. I eyed it yesterday as I walked back and forth from my hotel when I was running errands. After doing a little exploring after dark (doesn't that sound like a euphemism for masturbation?), I knew it was where I needed to end my night. There was a healthy mixture of Spanish and German speaking people, and slow, sexy, Latin music played on the stereo, gently filtering out to the patio, where I was sitting. I watched as businessmen greeted men wearing work clothes. The couple sitting next to me kept stopping mid-conversation to lean across the table and kiss each other. The waitress was all smiles and sweet to me, and made me feel right at home. There was none of this head-craning nonensense (of which I am more than guilty, usually); people just sat calmly, and waited for service. Sometimes their hands were clasped. The night air felt so good on my sunburned skin. I felt, at last, as if I were at a truly local establishment, as opposed to those tourist traps I've fallen into more often than my pride will allow me to admit. There have been too few of these experiences on my trip. I felt like I was getting closer to something, though I didn't know what. Perhaps closer to a feeling of home. Speaking of which, I'll be back next week. Look forward to seeing you. Thanks again for everything.
Ciao dear one,
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