Alas, my cherry-beautiful Turkey, alas

Let's write something from another trip to Germany.

I just arrived.

I am sitting in a cafe across from the Mainz train station, drinking coffee.

I will save the deep analysis for the return trip.

People are returning home from Frankfurt.

There is a crowd, but not an excessive one.

They are moving here and there without any rush.

As soon as I left the train station, a street vendor's stall appeared before me.

They are selling things like cherries and strawberries.

It is obvious from their appearance that they have come from quite far away.

Their color is not exactly bright and fresh.

The cherries caught my eye.

They are both red and quite large.

I had gone into a greengrocer's on the minibus route the other day, and when I saw the price of cherries at 600 liras, I thought I would buy 200 grams just to satisfy my craving.

After weighing them, I didn't feel like paying 120 liras for 10 cherries, so I gave up, under the harassing glares of the greengrocer.

Even though he muttered something as I put the cherries back in their basket, I didn't pay much attention.

I guess it was meant to be today, what can I say.

I bought a kilo of cherries for 300 liras.

Now we will eat them at the hotel until our stomachs are bloated.

And whatever happens until morning, so be it.

Or maybe I'll save them and add them to the Filyos gas pipeline.

Let the country's economy gain a little something from these German cherries, even if their origin is Turkey.

I can almost hear you saying, "Brother, forget the cherries and the prices, write about the Helgas with cherry breasts, strawberry lips, pearly teeth, and blonde hair, with their colorful eyes and FKK environments."

I will write about those too, but please give me a little time.