In which The Gay Recluse finds remnants of the 1860s 1960s.

It’s difficult to write about a city of the past without succumbing to nostalgia, given the grandeur of the dead monuments that have survived and the (philosophical) certainty that no time is worse to be alive than the present.

Some friends of ours came down from Berlin for a few days and booked a room in this cheap hotel just off the horrifyingly neon/commercialized Kärntner Straße. We laughed at the kitschy glass brick in the hallway outside of their room, but were nevertheless pleased to be away from all of the horrible merchandise on the street outside.

When we returned a few hours later, the sun had set and the wall was black; we felt a mix of relief and remorse knowing that we would almost certainly never see it lit up again.