The bike has been saved. We celebrate this drinking in a bar with old regular customers.
Bern, an ancient legionnaire, ask me to do his portrait. Then he wants the sketch,
and betray us to antagonize the motorbike club of the area if we don’t give it to him.
I can hardly take a picture before he leaves, staggering, holding the portrait.
He strongly smells happiness.

Berlin, you are something.