Good breakfast… oh those lazy days. I try to write at least a bit, but feel dumb due to the lack of many factual knowledge that I once obtained. It is in some coffee house I work and spend my day. It is the same thing I always do, in Buenos Aires, in Seoul, in Moscow, Lissabon, Mexico City – and it works here too. This is how I conquer the depressing mantra echoing up from the prewar sewers of this place: continuing with what I’m working on, and hallelujah, it seems to work. Now I can stand every trial.
I see a random man, an older man of nongermanic ethnicity and his his movements are gentle, elegant. Here I am, in my “home” city and still the traveler, the eternal traveler. I do what I do, order a cup of coffee, review writings, create new pages. There is the feeling of liberation. I listen to modern Russian music, proud of the manifold cultural contexts I have been exposed to, and that have kept my mind open.