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You weaved expertly through Kreuzberg traffic on a bright red bike, and I complimented your “Tour de France” skills as we stopped at a light. You flashed a dazzling smile, but the green came too soon. Will our bike lanes cross again?

We danced together to a street musician’s accordion near Museum Island, both pretending we knew how to tango. I had to rush for my tram and didn’t get your name—let’s finish the dance?

You sat across from me on the U1 last night, reading Murakami and wearing a green beanie. I was the awkward guy in the yellow raincoat who spilled his coffee all over himself at Möckernbrücke. Wish I’d offered you a new book to replace the one I splashed.