A glass of warm Pils.
The man offered his sister for the afternoon, in exchange for my pullover. I don’t think it was the fawn colour that attracted him, but that it was made from lambs wool. I was loitering in the concourse of East Berlin’s main railway station, awaiting a friend. When Heinz joined me and we made for the exit, he approached me again; showed a photo of a pretty girl. My answer was the same. All my garments had been listed when I passed through Checkpoint Charlie. To return without my sweater would have led to a prison term. Otherwise I …
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