A curious evening

Today was the day I picked up my flat keys. Walking between the car park and the flat, the effect of Mariä Himmelfahrt on the city is drastic. The place is absolutely dead. Upon seeing the flat completely empty, it becomes clear that furniture will definitely be necessary. I encounter another resident, but only very briefly. I forget her name within minutes.

Today is also extremely hot. Hence, I decide to pack the bulk of my things in the evening and move them into the flat when it has cooled down a bit. Things get later than expected. I bump into my landlord on the stairs, who looks at me as if I am faintly unhinged, lugging boxes to the car at past 21.00. I get to the flat at around 22.00. Much heaving ensues, there are many stairs, extremely steep and uneven. I meet another of the tenants, a friendly ground-floor dwelling woman having a cigarette. It seems that news of "the new renter" has spread. At around 22.50, the work is done. Starving and exhausted, I resolve to head home and aim to grab something on the way.

There is no food on the way. However, I remember that there is a McDonalds, beacon of holiday-bucking slave labour, not far from the flat. Arriving, I am faced with a trio of grinning people, one of whom raises his phone and starts taking pictures, motioning me to stay in the car. I oblige, figuring that anyone else at McDonalds this late must be as deranged as me. Getting out, the camera wielder asks me:

"Do you speak Deutsch?!"

"Ja"

"Komisch, auf der rechten Seite zu fahren oder?

"Nein, nicht besonders, ich bin daran gewöhnt."

"Bist du in der Bundeswehr oder was?"

"Nein, ich mache ein Pflichtpraktikum."

"Ein Jahr?"

"Genau."

Another of the group:

"Sein Deutsch ist besser als dein Englisch."

I take advantage of this switch of speakers to head into the welcoming fluorescent glow of the McCafé, but it strikes me at the same time that this level of immediate openness and friendliness without the aid of alcohol would be unusual in England, but seems less so here.

I gain a free glass with my McChicken-Menü. It offsets the fast-food guilt, but only slightly.

Arriving back in Kissing, the sky is incredibly clear. I walk out of my street and away from the violent orange of the sodium street lamps. Heading into the large open area nearby, the light fades. The stars are dense, the milky way a smudgy streak across the sky, a few late Perseids flash. I am standing opposite a dense field, but in a brand new parking space, in a brand new road in front of the empty space where there will be a brand new house, whose occupants will need brand new street lights to make sure they cannot see the stars.