Even the Clean Ones are Unclean

It’s that time of summer: when everyone’s everywhere doing everything when days are longer, happinesses stronger when the green grass looks like it’s been told I-love-you. Six past six o’clock. Evening. The sun is effulgent, the wind mildly turbulent. At a field, around a neighborhood, in Berlin, on a sunny summer Sunday, three friends meet

Bonfire Night

“Remember, remember the fifth of November,  gunpowder, treason and plot.  We see no reason why gunpowder treason  should ever be forgot!”  The first verse of this nursery rhyme rings in my ears as clearly as it did the day my mother taught it to me. And this song returns once a year, as she and