Down and out in Berlin

The sterile atmosphere of a Berlin airport seemed as good a place as any to end it. Having been willed on by countless strangers; cut throat signs and mocking goodbyes. I decided to take the early morning plunge into a couple bottles of Jaegermeister, bought alongside a packet of razorblades and headed to the mens toilets. Cheered on by the toilet attendant gripping her mop in anticipation I picked the furthest cubicle and locked myself in, sat on the fragile plastic white toilet seat and picked out a blade.

At this point the Jaegermeister had mixed well with the previous nights vodka and i was feeling fearless in anticipation. I pulled up my sleeves, pumped my fists several times to bring up the veins and began carving up my forearm.

It wasnt exactly painful, more unnatural, unused to, alien. Like the vibrations given off by ripping fabric. The blood collected in a pool on the floor, gobules of it dripping from my wrists. A pint, mabey two. Not enough.

'OK' I thought, now at the peek of my drunken high. Two more Jaegermeisters for the road and then I'll finish it.

'Two more Jaegermeisters please' to the airport shop girl who seemed surprised having thought she'd seen the last of me.

I decided to drink them on a bench in the local park as opposed to back in the airport toilets.

Both drinks down and cigarette in hand it began to rain. The tree opposite was creating expressions on the building behind when the wind blew. A grin and a wink.

'Fuck this!' The drinking catching up with me.

'Fuck this!' A change of heart.