Who Am I When I’m Not Crazy?

Nicolas Postiglioni on Pexels

Sometime in the muggiest autumn Bavaria has seen in years, I throw myself onto an active train track. My friends are shouting my name in worry. The Polizei are shouting in German. I have been drinking, but I am not drunk. I am eighteen. I am laughing. The scene is exactly as I’ve described, but it’s not what you’re thinking — at least, not in my mind.