Michael.

His first excuse is that he doesn't have his swimming trunks with him. His last is that he hasn't swum in nearly 6 years. But I am persistent. I want to swim today and I ask again, are you coming?

It is nearly 6 p.m. when Michael and I arrive at the Schlachtensee station. There is nothing but bright sunshine this afternoon, so the lakeside is teaming with sun worshippers and the footpath round the lake is crowded with runners, walkers and toddlers.

I worry aloud about where we could lay out our blanket. But Michael spies the boat rental and asks, what about that?

We rent our boat from a woman whose face and spirit could be the dictionary entry for "hag." Michael needs those first moments pushed away from the shore just to shake himself of her. But then it’s the middle of the lake, the lap swimmers cruising by, the splashers loud at the shore, the waterfowl small and large… He gets practically giggly with joy.

Ok, ok, he concedes. He strips and jumps naked into the lake. I strip and follow.

Happy perky sun-kissed lake-wet nipples. Absolutely.

The End Game

Italy won the World Cup with 5 of 5 penalty kicks against France. I was estatic and, possibly during those jumps for joy, promptly lost my key in the dark field of Treptower Park. I didn't realize it until Matthias and I had made our way back to the S-Bahn station and stopped, just briefly, to watch the Italians celebrate on a small cafe's TV.

I rip apart my purse, repeat, and then drag a drunk-but-sobering Matthias back through the dark.

We shuffled around in the field, searching. A whole afternoon and night's revelry -- from Seeed concert to victory kicks -- yields empty wine bottles, tossed beer cups and everything else but keys. Where is the lost and found office? I am grateful for Matthias' native German, but frustrated to hear the same response from the police and the security staff: come back tomorrow.

So I am "back tomorrow."

My bike is still here, but no keys are tucked under the rear tire. The grass at least offers up 65 cents, which I pocket as a possibly downpayment to a locksmith.

This is the second time since arriving that I've needed one. The first was as I stole a good-bye kiss with a certain someone on the bright landing just beyond the door's reach. The wind, no doubt jealous, slammed the door firmly shut to us both. I had on no shoes, no bra, no panties...but the sheen of our Sweet Good Morning Fuck (we had given it a name by then) was still on my skin.

Because of Matthias' hospitality -- a bed of my own and a shower to wash away the dust of the field and the salty-sweat of my dancing -- I present myself clean and fully dressed to the park staff.

Come back at 6, she says.

I want to curse.

Auf der Fan Meile / On Fan Mile

Germany beat Argentina in an EXCELLENT match that had me biting my nails. Good lord. The first half sucked, but thereafter we had a tight game, 30 minutes of overtime and then penalty kicks where Lehmann quieted his critics and saved the day. I screamed, I cried... WHAT A GAME!!

Wish you were here! Yours.