My room in the apartment cost me all of 300 bucks. No wonder. The flat was a dump, the plaster was peeling off the walls in pieces as big as plates, and wheezing away in the bathroom was a gas-powered flow water heater. Directly in front of the building, trucks thundered noisily across the bridge that cut the city in two.
One of the two other people in the apartment was a guy called Markus Freitag. He had a gently ironic way of talking and was always lower key than my other, more hyped-up, friends. Another strange thing was that Markus didn't smoke, do weed or care much about booze.
All typical signs of a pregnancy, LOL.