Berlin, big city, big deal - you couldn’t put one over on Magic Hoffmann that easily. A clown like that would certainly have to get up earlier. An elderly gentleman explained to him that the next station lay in the former West Berlin. The train entered a curve and two churches appeared in the window, one half demolished and one in Mannheim style, in the midst of department stores and cinemas. Then the train came to a halt at Zoo station. Fred was propelled along the platform by a pack of screaming teenagers on a school outing. He looked around in amazement. The entire railway station of the capital city consisted of four tracks, two beer stalls and a ticket inspector’s hut. The pack huddled together and, shoulder to shoulder, descended a narrow urine-coloured, tiled stairway down into the station concourse. Gift shops, chip stalls, coffee counters - indistinguishable from hundreds of other stations in Germany. Fred went through a revolving door onto the forecourt and looked for a taxi driver to ask the whereabouts of a cheap hotel.
