It’s rained every Monday since I started going to the Ostenbergers house. But today was magical. Not only was I not tired, not only was the sun shining, but I stepped off of the train to come face to face with…an elephant.
Ober Ursel, this sleepy little suburb of Frankfurt, is really, really the last place I’d ever expect to meet an elephant. A wealthy business person commuting into the city, sure. Old women waiting for their U-Bahn, check. Obnoxious kids on their way to school holding the train door open so we cant leave the mother fucking station, every fucking time. That pretty girl with the dyed black hair and her bicycle or the two Thai women gabbing at each other on their way to work, absolutely, but an elephant?
I don’t know what his name was. But I imagined it was Herbert.
The circus lost it’s appeal somewhere around the time I turned 13. It became disgusting somewhere around the time I went vegan. And more than any performance could be, this was the magic of the circus. The quick glance behind the curtain. The scattered caravans in a muddy fields, without lights, without music, without the cries of win this here just a dollar!!! or see the smallest horse in the world!! The performers still asleep in their caravans. Me eye-ing their caravans enviously and wondering how the hell I’m going to find one so I can finally move to Borsig. The rusty still-folded-up rides. The elephant.
It was the least bitter walk up the path through the woods and to the architects’ house I’d ever had. It was the most relaxed I’d ever felt on a Monday morning. And on the way home: a giraffe. I have a feeling this week is going to be full of surprises.
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