Erika Solomon, Berlin
Before the coronavirus, the last stretch of my bike ride home from the office was a terrifying, high-speed obstacle course. Heading up Warschauer Street, I swerved to spare the drunken “lads on tour” who inevitably stumbled into the bike path.
Warschauer was the vomit-stained artery that moved hordes of visiting revellers between late-night döner kebab stands and the industrial-chic clubs and bars that Berlin is famous for.
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