Kolli
We left the gallery.
The December air hit me again the second the doors closed behind us, cold and sharp and smelling like roasted chestnuts from the cart on the corner. Berlin at lunch time looked alive. People everywhere. Coats and scarves and paper bags. The museums and galleries on Museum Island stood behind us like a row of postcards, and in front of us the streets were lined with small restaurants, cafes with heaters outside, and bookshops with Christmas wreaths in the windows.
Danilo insisted we walk.
"I don't care," I said, pulling my coat tighter. "Any restaurant would work."
He looked at me and grinned. That crooked one. "You've been complaining about me taking you to fancy restaurants," he said. "Then we'll go to McDonald's. Budget friendly anyway."
I burst out laughing. It was loud. Too loud. People turned to look. I had to cover my mouth for a second, mortified.
