Carolyn Ferrell’s student bus pass, Berlin, 1988 In West Berlin, I found myself crying often. It was the winter of 1985, and, though I’d tenaciously planted myself there two months earlier, I had no friends. I lived in an unheated apartment, and my meager student loan left me broke by the middle of each month. The boy I’d followed there told me I should commit myself to a mental asylum. I hated West Berlin and its grimy, xenophobic residents. I had been forced to move a few times, and when I went looking for a room to rent, people often slammed the door in my face saying,
We sent an email to with a link to finish logging in.