Wilmersdorf. It’s a weird place.

Although I was born in the far west of Germany with its knives and karneval and other nonsense, I was raised from young age in Wilmersdorf. I was lucky to living close to the far cooler Schöneberg, so I could escape the quarter with an age average of around 246 from time to time.

Yesterday and today I revisited Wilmersdorf. There is no real reason to go there, except for visiting parents and looking at stuff in stores.

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This pile of „Berliner Morgenpost“ is way more useful being a pile than being read.

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Wilmersdorf got style.

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Good thing they are waiting, otherwise they would have no chance of getting in the store.

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Contemplating Life Choices.

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At this rate of reconstructing city west it will soon be covered completely in concrete. Not a bad thing, I’d say.

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