We crawled and crawled for long enough that we were picked up by our first Mother. Berlin, Berlin. St. George’s bookstore. Templehof Park. Parasailers on the old airport. Tino tells us about being a child in East Berlin. And then the reds and yellows and new fonts of being a boy in on the other side of the broken wall. Then, blutwurst and bier. Blutwurst and bier. We order another before eating the first before no one can tell us we can’t. And what are those? Those are, um, saucy, um phlllrpt. Mmm…we’ll take 3 too. We sit for one million years across from each other. In the high tower. All our wounds felt explained. All our knives felt bandaged. All our empires felt arrested. All our castles felt unbuilt. All our hearts felt unbroken.