Near midnight she pedals her rented bike past Checkpoint Charlie. Vacant, but suitably restored, the off-white, utilitarian guard box occupies the middle of the street, protected from a barrage of... [+]
The weather was good today, you answer whenever I ask how are you, how was your day. I don’t know when we stopped talking about what mattered the most because you won’t tell me. I ask are you OK, and you shrug and wait until I’m out of the room to confess to your cigarette. If you wanted me to figure you out without you taking a risk once in a while, you should’ve married the magician, the one who made you beam when he pulled a rabbit out of a hat and gave it to you for the world to see.