Those of us who call Berlin home are used to waking up to slate-gray winter skies and knocking the rickety iron heaters up a notch to bring some warmth into our tall-ceilinged quarters. Nights, we buy bottles of beer from the corner Späti and drink them walking the city’s rain-wet, cobbled streets. When the weather finally warms, we’ll sit along the Landwehr Canal sipping cold Club Mate or on the benches of street-side cafés with plates of cake and finely foamed flat whites. Who we are, while we live here, is something we won’t be anywhere else.
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