pizza night in kreuzberg

over a doughy-but-not-too-chewy and cheesy-but-not-too-greasy
well-deserved-from-biking-gillions-of-kilometers fantastic margherita pizza from 
il casolare
i somehow survive a charming conversation in broken italian, german, and english
with a new friend, the stranger milania from sicily. 
we sit crowded at a long table, observing what appear to be berlin's most stylish walking on by with open containers.
m and i gesture camera lenses and fresh fish, brooklyn and atlanta.
this, this whole awesome-stranger-meeting, language-struggling thing, self says to self, is why you're on this adventure and what you'll remember when you're old and crusty and settled down. as i wonder why i couldn't exempt myself from pizza night on account of i'm in berlin and should be eating a bratwurst?