There were birds in Langstrasse during the two months of lockdown. They would sing in the morning, around 5 a.m., like they always do in this season. And not just pigeons — whose rotten eggs’ smell would be brought to your nostrils by a breeze of spring wind — but other sweet birds that I couldn’t see from my bed, birds enjoying singing on the same street that in normal circumstances never sleeps.
But these are not normal circumstances. We almost had a whole month of sun, and an endless row of quiet days where you’d see people hang outside trying to escape the boredom. Everything just dampened, a silent desert of closed-up buildings and restaurants and shops. Still-like, carefully spaced lines around blocks.
Bad days and good days and bad days again.
But in the geometry of this city, invisible nets of sounds crossed places they normally wouldn’t.
heimdimension 