Berlin buying Heroin

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Berlin buying Heroin

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This way for illegal drugs, please

Berlin buying Heroin

The sun is rising over Kotti as the area is affectionately called in German , reflecting on the satellite dishes and the windows of the surrounding kebab joints and bars. Theft increased by percent. To many, Kotti is the perfect example of a place in which different worlds can coexist peacefully. At night, African music blends into Turkish pop and techno. Is Kotti the cesspool of Berlin or a multicultural paradise? The first dealers make their way to their posts for the morning shift around AM. The driver unwraps the giant meat cone and rests it on his shoulder. Students in pixie haircuts grab their coffees to go. Women in hijabs drink black tea from little glasses and eat simit—the Turkish version of a sesame bagel. An elderly person pushing an empty shopping cart locks it outside the store with a bike lock before going in to order. Another grandpa, wearing a John Deere hat and a crocheted shawl, reads the culture section of Die Zeit. Drug addicts, eccentrics, Turks, artists, and students make up the fauna at Kotti. If you climb to the roof of one of the social housing projects surrounding it, then you can see Kotti in all its glory at once. The expansive, ten-story monster called the Neue Kreuzberger Zentrum makes up the north side of the square. In the West, you have the Istanbul Supermarket. In the East, you have burger joint Burgermeister—a favorite for tourists. Every few minutes, the U1 train rattles into the station on the overground tracks. At night, it delivers the party crowds. I decide to get a kebab for lunch. Is it one of the ambush thieves that the media writes about so often? He wants my number. He gives me a piece of baklava as a parting gift and tells me he works in a corner store nearby. A local resident, Ahmet Tuncer, 63, will later tell me that I was lucky. His wallet was stolen once. The cash was gone, but the documents were still there. It makes Kottbuser Tor a meeting point. Tuncer also says he feels things have calmed down in the past couple of months. People who own retail spaces nearby pay a pair of private security teams, each composed of two men and dog, to patrol the area at night. In nearby Cafe Kremanski, a barista with a groomed beard serves a caffe corretto to a guy working with a MacBook that is charging an iPhone and an iPad at the same time. He offers me a sip when I come out. One of them is from Lebanon, the other from Egypt, and the third is Palestinian. Some guy who offered me heroin earlier is now cheering a few feet away from a group of private security guards on their cigarette break. After midnight, however, the mood turns. A blackout drunk woman is dancing in front of a dozen men, who are sat on a step. She stumbles, sways, catches herself, and continues to dance. There is yelling and the sound of quick steps on the asphalt. A little group comes together next to the hour vegetable stand. Three scrawny men push another, older man around; in the end, they manage to rip something out of his hand. He is a sturdy guy with the nose and body of a boxer. It turns out he actually is a boxer. He points to the scar on his throat as an answer. Seyar sometimes speaks to me in English, sometimes in German, and sometimes in Russian. He takes off his T-shirt to show me a bunch of stab wounds distributed above his kidneys, larynx, and on his upper arm. But the people working overnight at Kotti complain a lot: about the criminality, the journalists who are obsessed with depicting the place as either a drug hole or a hipster paradise, and the politicians who seem to only care about Kotti when it makes headlines. A punk girl with dreads is chasing her dog, to the sound of drunken France fans rowdily lining up for a falafel after a long night of victorious drinking. By Matt Jancer. By Sammi Caramela. By Paige Gawley. By Laurent Laughlin. Share: X Facebook Share Copied to clipboard. Videos by VICE.

Berlin buying Heroin