I shook off the recollection. It was strange, the things that stayed sometimes.
“Where are you tonight, Stefan?” someone asked me.
“Here,” I said with a grin. “I’m staying right here.”
“And tomorrow?”
I smiled. “We’ll see.”
The music swelled, the crowd thickening around us.
Folsom was about to begin, and Berlin, as always, was ready for it.
Chapter Seven
September 2
Kieran
I followed Karl’s directions,and as I came around the corner of Motzstraße, I spotted the café immediately. It was located on the corner of the street, rainbow awnings along both sides. Chairs and tables sat under them, half of them occupied with?—
They’re all men.
There were tall men, short men, some in jeans, others in leather. They were all ages too, from twinks to guys probably as old as Karl, if not older.
A young man hovered by the corner door, looking along both streets. He wore jeans and a black tee. As I drew closer, I could make out the wording on his top, which consisted of six letters.
FSTABL
It took me a minute to work out the meaning, and then I had to stifle a gasp.
He’s okay walking around telling everyone he likes beingfisted?
Apparently, my porn education had been good for something.
The guy peered at me as I approached. “Are you Kieran?”
I gaped. “You’re Hans?”
He grinned. “Yeah, that’s me.” He leaned in and kissed me on the cheek. Now that I got a closer look, he had to be in his early twenties, with dark brown hair and equally dark eyes. His beard was neatly trimmed, his upper arms toned. Clearly a guy who took care of himself.
I was dying to ask how he knew Karl.
“Can I get you a coffee or something?” he asked, his voice clear and light.
“A latte would be good.”
He smiled. “Grab a table. I’ll be right back.” Then he disappeared into the café.
I glanced along the street and spied an empty round table, two chairs against the windows. I removed my jacket and sat, draping it over my knee. The day was already warming up. On either side of me were guys in leather jackets, and even a man wearing what looked like a rubber suit that clung to him.
Every part of him.
And then I noticed the passersby.
There was a constant stream of guys strolling past the café, all shapes, all sizes, and all ages. Some stopped to greet some of the café’s patrons, and there were hugs and kisses, some surprisingly intimate that made me feel as though I was intruding.
Canal Street was nothing like this.