name of a train station between munich and berlin on the ICE line: “Jena Paradies”.
Before the station, bombed-out, crumbling farm houses overgrown with moss and damp ferns. mist-covered mountains laced with late snow huddle around the city like voyeurs leering over a bathtub.
vivid graffiti – a rainbow of messy teenage love – smothers every inch of industry. clean, small cars curve through the clean streets and disappear into the mist around the bend.
leaving town, a long, low wooden fance by the train tracks repeats the same block letters like prayer beads in black spray paint: “stowstowstowstowstowstowstowstowstowstowstow…”