We killed most of the rest of our time there, debating once or twice on whether or not to try to figure out how to get into a German theatre in order to see a German version of some american crap. Can you guess whether the movie won out over the beer? I knew you could. Which is why we stayed there.

Time passed and the shadows lengthened. The last hour took about four hundred years, and at one point I could hear the pavement breathing.

I do not deal with lack of sleep well anymore.

Luckily for us, at the train station there was a mysterious bar, set up in the back of a top-chopped stretch limo. Luckily for the bartender, he had beer on tap. We sat and drank and watched the pretty numbers and letters spinning and clicking on the big black board up on the wall. So spinny ... and clicky ... and ... spinny ... and ... SnxZZzzzzzzzZzz....

The bartender came over to demand his money just in time, as we started awake, hurriedly stuffed cash in the barkeep's hand, and ran off to catch our train. Our overnight train. With beds. Sweet precious beds. Sweet, precious, lumpy, kind of slanty, and in a way-too-hot cabin, beds.

Heaven.