On the banks of the River Spree, a busker sings. The night curls in, rolling along the river as the sky behind turns orange, then purple, then the rich blue of a deepening bruise. On the other side of the bridge couples huddle together, seeking comfort in the refuge of the museum steps. They remain there song after song, bewitched. Sleeves are rolled down, jackets pulled over new jumpers; the gentle scratch of autumn against summer skin.
Berlin, and other cities
Berlin, and other cities
Berlin, and other cities
On the banks of the River Spree, a busker sings. The night curls in, rolling along the river as the sky behind turns orange, then purple, then the rich blue of a deepening bruise. On the other side of the bridge couples huddle together, seeking comfort in the refuge of the museum steps. They remain there song after song, bewitched. Sleeves are rolled down, jackets pulled over new jumpers; the gentle scratch of autumn against summer skin.