Thursday 18 February 2016, 07:01:
My heads spins and my body aches. I open my eyes and am surrounded by the warm glow of the New York sun filtering in gently through my gauzy crème curtains. My phone reads 7:01am. My head begs Go back to sleep. My bladder pulls me out of my bed and to the toilet. My logic draws a warm shower. My head still pounds, my throat still aches, my body still shakes – and my mouth can’t help but smile. Wide and goofy, I feel like a drunkard being tucked in lovingly at the end of a long night by a tired friend.
The word is blasting through my head, loud and echoing: BERLIN. I can think of nothing else. It crashes through my sickness – a result of the city and its luring nightlife, its vibrant festival energy, its spanning itinerary of things to do and places to be – and makes my headache more bearable. In retrospect, it begins to blur: the people, the work, the bars, the clubs, the films, the days. The memories already slip out of my mind like a quickly rewinding film – I can catch only glimpses and snippets. So I get back into my warm, white bed and thumb through my week day-by-day, a mug of tea in one hand and my open Notes in the other.