Rostock Main Train Station, 

Your city, my favorite brother-in-law.

Seemingly endless, anonymous hospital hallways, staff dressed in white. I ask for the room number and in turn am asked whether I’m a relative. 

Sunday
I'm standing at the open front door and wave farewell to the Nissan Hybrid with a Velten license plate that's speeding away. Matthias is sitting in the passenger seat while his wife Guia, my long-time friend from northeastern Brazil, throws me one last air kiss.

The Intercity Express 699 to Munich is coming to a halt with a hiss and a bump at Berlin Main Station. The young Chilean woman who wants to go apartment-hunting in Berlin in order to get established as a chef specialized in sustainable cuisine waves goodbye to me. I wish her luck in her endeavor which she will surely need in light of the current housing situation in Berlin.

Rüdiger is lying in his white hospital bed and looks out the window. His few belongings are on the window sill in a white plastic bag. The gray beard and thin, cachectic body make him appear older than he really is.