Sensuous bricks...sinuous conrete...the first emerging sun, beats down on a cobbled lane--the smell of last evenings beer mingles with the damp earth.
There's an ionized freshness in the air, as ozone-spouting busses pass noisily by, their cargoes staring out of clean windows.
Bavaria sands tall above us all, her proud breasts giving suck to all the city west of her, but protected from ravening maws by the Isar...and shrugging to the South where poor Valentine sits in the Isartor, awaiting some sort of love.
There's a train pulling into the tunnel at Muenchener Freiheit, there's another one emerging--each one donning a new blue in the lights down here, madding crowds are busting for the escalators, escalating their urgency onto the street.
Now it is fall, a cold snap has sent the bricks of these grand houses in Lehel shivering, the trees protest, but it suits Lenbach just fine, even the frozen Stacchus can't but help to revel in the hope of a spill of gluhwein, or two.
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