Summer evening, babble of voices, clinking glasses. Everything is the same as when you sit with friends in the beer garden: roast chicken, fries, sausage salad and white wine are piled up in front of us, and after the first sip you know that you should have ordered a beer. Or well, almost like always. Today I’m telling you about the new column, this one. And suddenly we’re all stuck in the old stories, laughing at weird exes and dissecting our own crimes.
A friend of mine, let’s call him Markus, remembers apologizing to an ex-girlfriend ten years later. “The fact that I brought this separation through in such an immature and hurtful way occupied me forever,” he says. Now everyone is quiet at the table, even chewing is stopped. What happened?
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