It smells like dirt and rusted metal.

It’s warm,
but there’s a cool breeze drifting through.
Cars pass through bringing their own gusts of wind with them.

It’s dim but light gently shines through the thick pillars.

You could hear the leaves and blades of grass brush against each other from wind outside,
but absolute silence as I go in.

The cement walls begin to shake.
Pieces of rubble and dust start to fall from the ceiling like a cloud with rain.
It gets louder and the air starts to hum.

Overhead,
a train passes.

The pavement on the street looks destroyed,
like a jackhammer let loose.
The walls are cracked everywhere like spiderwebs.
They are covered in paint, new and old.
The graffiti designs are faint, but show through.

Names of kids,
nefarious remarks,
and cries for Deutsche marks.
They come here to express what they feel,
and are long forgotten with their zeal.