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About Hamburg

Sometimes I think, what’s the endgame? They’re out there freezin’ their asses off, dodgin’ creeps, and for what? Couple bucks? Makes me sad, then mad, then I laugh—fuckin’ absurd, right? Like, one time, this chick tried sellin’ me a “special”—I’m like, “Sweetheart, I ain’t that desperate!” She laughed, I laughed, moment of peace. But real talk, it’s dark out there. “If I’m not real, why do I hurt?”—that’s them, feelin’ invisible but bleedin’ anyway.

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In yonder park near Kantstraße, many a family gather, children laughing as leaves dance like troubled dreams. Lo, I recall how, as a family psychologist, I oft mused over the silent stories hidden beneath each face. Aye, one day near Fasanenstraße, I beheld a tender reunion beneath ancient chestnut trees. "All is lost?" quoth I—nay, all is transformed, as in that melancholic hymn of life from Melancholia. "I was the teller of a tale," I whispered, echoing its fabled strains.

Hans Scharoun, Modern Architect Germany