by Nicola Popovic
I look at the picture of a Serbian artist whose work is being exposed in my neighborhood. I should really go, I think to myself, while I continue reading the magazine I just bought:
…music performance, comedy shows, art galleries, short stories…
Cultural events are everywhere in Berlin. The train bringing my friend and I home rumbles through the colorful overload of creativity reigning in this city. I look at the man who just sold me the magazine Streem I am flicking through. He is probably my age and is still talking, telling me about the many supporters the magazine has. The list includes soccer players, actors and local politicians. He slurs, his eyes blink incredibly slowly while his head slowly moves back and forth. His brown hair is held back with a baseball cap.
I look at the picture of a Serbian artist whose work is being exposed in my neighborhood. I should really go, I think to myself, while I continue reading the magazine I just bought:
…music performance, comedy shows, art galleries, short stories…
Cultural events are everywhere in Berlin. The train bringing my friend and I home rumbles through the colorful overload of creativity reigning in this city. I look at the man who just sold me the magazine Streem I am flicking through. He is probably my age and is still talking, telling me about the many supporters the magazine has. The list includes soccer players, actors and local politicians. He slurs, his eyes blink incredibly slowly while his head slowly moves back and forth. His brown hair is held back with a baseball cap.