Each place in the world has its own sense of time. They are best described by how people interact with windows and pavements, the way they react to a change in the light, the patterns they make in public spaces. How much noise is there? How much of that noise are you invited to hear? And maybe what the food is like.
I met Juwelia because a summer storm arrived so violently and suddenly over southeast Berlin that I was forced to take shelter in the orange light radiating from studio's doorway. She was hosting an open house. The front room was maybe ten feet both ways, the walls covered to the ceiling in her art, the lamps covered in boas and lacey pink-orange cloths. But she is the real piece of art most people around here are interested in seeing, photographing, and buying. She's shown and sold her body, but claims she's not good at sex. Her English is shrill but grounded by grovely "jahs" "uhns" and the likes. She has a small man-servant who apparently is her manager and life partner. He wears a flat cap and is delighted by her.
