My Berlin Summer

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I suppose it was all my own fault. I should have known what I was getting into. Or maybe I did know, and that was why I got into it. Sometimes it's hard to say what we do of our own conscious volition, and what we are somehow drawn into doing. But it happened all the same.

It was the summer after my junior year in college, when the world still lay before me. I was living in Berlin, in Kreuzberg, and like any good American college student, I spent my nights in Prenzlauer Berg, in what had once been East Berlin. I was nominally in Berlin to learn German and to study art history, but really I was there to have fun. And fun I had. It was late June, only three weeks after I had arrived, and I had fallen in with a group of German students whom I idolized - older, better traveled, more world-weary, they seemed the very embodiment of sophistication to a girl from California, abroad for the first time.

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