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Innocence is a myth and a ceremony.i
My Berlin apartment overlooked a kindergarten. Children arrive nosily wherever they are, and their greetings to one another would tug me out of sleep. Agitated by the foreignness of their native tongue and the irregularity of their patter, I was forced from bed and into the day.
Without my own schedule to adhere to I kept time listening to the children next door.
By their mid-morning play—though German children always seem to be outside—I would be in the kitchen, working my way through the six-cup moka pot with its derelict handle, melted by the gas hob, transformed into lava stalactites.
From my preferred chair, I would look out of the window, which offered me a partial view of the playground. Three storeys up and at an angle, I could see perhaps a third of the yard. There was a sandpit somewhere out of sight, and a wooden climbing structure; the section visible to me was furthest...More
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Press Release
Innocence is a myth and a ceremony.i
My Berlin apartment overlooked a kindergarten. Children arrive nosily wherever they are, and their greetings to one another would tug me out of sleep. Agitated by the foreignness of their native tongue and the irregularity of their patter, I was forced from bed and into the day.
Without my own schedule to adhere to I kept time listening to the children next door.
By their mid-morning play—though German children always seem to be outside—I would be in the kitchen, working my way through the six-cup moka pot with its derelict handle, melted by the gas hob, transformed into lava stalactites.
From my preferred chair, I would look out of the window, which offered me a partial view of the playground. Three storeys up and at an angle, I could see perhaps a third of the yard. There was a sandpit somewhere out of sight, and a wooden climbing structure; the section visible to me was furthest...More