Wet beach booty***
Rosa and I met at a cafe in Kreuzberg; we spoke about radical politics. We discussed the Situationists, Mayakovsky and the old man with the rats in Neil Gaiman's 'Coraline'. The air that summer was electrical in Berlin; we made our way down to Tresor to hear Ricardo Villalobos and Miss Kittin have fun to a sweaty crowd of 4000. When we dragged back thru the angry streets at dawn to my loft in the old East, we clutched a bottle of absinthe and shouted our revolutionary poetic creed to the silent rooftops. Once inwards, Rosa shed her clothes sans prompting and told me to get my camera out....Little did we know what we'd begun, and it had only begun.