Pióro

I forgot my mother’s birthday. I knew it was coming. In fact, two days before, while Martha and I were on the train from Wrocław to Hamburg, I remember saying, “I have to email my mom in two days.” And did I? No. Instead, I was wandering around the Reeperbahn, Hamburg’s red-light district. A friend walked me down Herbertstrasse, a small block only open to guys over eighteen (no, I wasn’t IDed). No women are allowed to walk down the street, which is odd, ‘cause there were lots of women in the windows waving to me. They were all wearing tight clothes, from leather to PVC. Still, it wasn’t as outrageous as I’d hoped. I’ve seen episodes of Bleu Nuit that were more risqué. So I wandered around this den of sin without one though of my mom. Looks like Freud was wrong…