Reunification, the Pong

In 1992, I skipped across united Deutschland with my West German hosts. It was the easiest thing in the world, paying meager marks for chips of the wall like buying seashells and shot glasses at Myrtle Beach. The capital’s churchyards, bleak and shadowed warned of continued disharmony. Stench of urine smacked me at the cathedral doors making me hesitant to walk through any puddles lest the contaminating residue grab hold. The wrenching power of this reek, I know not whether man, dog, or rat startlingly dwarfed the sweetish tang of teenage drinking territories in the States. Ornate, soot-blackened masonry stood gaunt without a speck of visible litter. I shivered at the statement of dissent. Vandalism, biological terrorism, rage.