Design a site like this with WordPress.com
Get started

Schepplin

It was four thirty in the morning, it was bitterly, bitingly cold, and the entrances to Friedrichstraße station were already impassable. If you were lucky enough, if you’d got here early enough even to get close to them, that is. From above, for the parasite riven pigeons sheltering in the roof, the broad concourse looked …