![]() ![]() Like the train lines, these too are cut into the ground, but no one thought to connect them. I move through the slush to where I know there are toilets. At ground level Alexanderplatz is a monstrous expanse of grey concrete designed to make people feel small. I need to get to the surface quickly and make my way back up the stairs. I look at green tiles, breathe green air. I'm catching the underground to Ostbahnhof to board the regional line down to Leipzig, a couple of hours from here. A morning drunk walks on the ground like it might not hold him. ![]() He makes arcs of green powder and cigarette butts and urine. Another man in overalls, with a broom the size of a tennis-court sweeper, pushes disinfectant pellets along the platform. He is missing shoelaces and some teeth his face and his shoes are as loose as each other. A man turns from the wall, smiling and zipping up his fly. ![]()
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