I arrived in Lübeck recently. A job interview. I had packed my entire life into a few bags. Everything I could carry. I'm a foreigner here. The sweltering summer heat hit me in the face as I stepped out of the main train station. It was peak tourist season. I could only get a one-night hotel room on such short notice. But that doesn't matter. I'll take care of it after the interview. I arrived at the hotel. Put on my suit. Got the interview. (Heard back weeks later—I didn't get the job.) A stroke of luck. Met an older couple. Germans. They'd lived in Lübeck for almost thirty years. I told them my story. I thought they might know people who had a room to rent somewhere. They offered me their couch. They told me to bring all my things in the morning. Hugs. A connection. They took me to the bus stop. Showed me where to get food. How to get back to the hotel. Two weeks later, I'm back on my feet. I offered money. They said no. They said it would be sad if they couldn't even help someone. I could have robbed them, their friends and family scolded. But he didn't, they replied. Their lives were busy. I cooked. Fed them. The plaque struck. It silenced every corner of the earth. Cities that never slept finally did. I worked. Did their grocery shopping whenever I could. We sanitized every bag, every package. I helped bring their business online. Technology. I'm a millennial. Kept their business alive. We.
