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.
This pile of „Berliner Morgenpost“ is way more useful being a pile than being read.
Wilmersdorf got style.
Good thing they are waiting, otherwise they would have no chance of getting in the store.
Contemplating Life Choices.
At this rate of reconstructing city west it will soon be covered completely in concrete. Not a bad thing, I’d say.