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Adrenaline for Breakfast

I'm falling for this city. Berlin is like the guy who gets more attractive the more you get to know him.  He's got this great multifaceted personality.  He's not showy or pretentious.  He listens.  He surprises you.  He's a little bit edgy but still feels like home.

The more I scratch the surface of this city the  more I like it.  The past week is a bit of a blur.  I feel like I ate adrenaline for breakfast every day chased with three coffees.

I dug into spicy rice noodles in a tiny Vietnamese restaurant, shook my hips to hip hop in a smoky club with French DJs, listened to live jazz at a cocktail bar, drank bourbon at a BBQ joint, ate currywurst on the street, got a new tattoo in the back of a hair salon and met some great people all along the way.

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I like the people here.  No one comes to this city for fame, fortune or a clean cut lifestyle.  They come to live.  To be creative.  To realize wild ideas they could never afford to make happen anywhere else.  As one guy said to me this weekend "You don't really have to grow up here.  You can just be."

My friend joked that I was in love with everyone I met.  I laughed and explained it's where I'm at right now.  The liberating thing is that I have no real desire to be with anyone.  I am having fun meeting people, feeling the spark of desire and the magnetism that comes with not caring too much.

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Also, I'm taken.  I've got something special with the city of Berlin and I want to see where he'll take me next.

"I love this sprawling town. I love the anarchy of stone and flesh visible only at night. [...] I love the radical proletarian style that she has adopted; I love how she can shine with splendour underneath the grime. I love her penchant for slumming, her nightly quest for an authentic and purifying anarchy of body and soul -- unlike Paris, Berlin will never be serenaded in poetry or depicted in delicate watercolors. This city is a snapshot; you need the fleetingness of newsprint and a theatre of moving images to do her justice. Berlin is [only true] New York of the old world, a city with enough cojones to dance on the dangerous edge of splendour and doom." -- Paul Verhaeghen, Omega Minor

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