The train finally pulled into our station, and [Dagmar and I] stepped out into Ostbahnhof, a succession of brightly lit streets thrumming with elegant couples and teenage girls in short, expensive-looking dresses. On every street corner, men stood behind little carts, peddling aromatic pretzels. Though Mom and the Meyerson-Cullens were still in the same city, or at least one of its unprepossessing suburbs, right then I felt very far away from them, delightfully so.
The scenery grew dingier as we neared Friedrichshain, where nineteenth-century limestone buildings gave way to tan apartment complexes and shabby minimarkets. We passed a few places that seemed sool, including the Lee Harvey Oswald Bar, which was painted red and white and filled with monitors playing a loop of Kennedy's assassination. "That's where all the Americans conspire," Dagmar said with a note of disgust.
A few blocks later, I flipped for the Astro-Bar, a little hole in the wall with ancient computers hanging from the ceiling. "Look!" I said, peering inside. "This is so geeky - I love it! Can we go in?"
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