I’m sitting in Starbucks on Friedrichsstraße, trying to get over a killer headache.

I’m watching business love blossom in front of me. A young blond woman in a brown pinstriped business suit is leaning in to listen to an equally young fellow (a brunette, he) in a grey pinstriped business suit. Pinstripes seem popular this season.

She strokes his hand and says something—I’m too far away to hear what exactly.

The couple to the table to my left are less lovey, but enunciate more clearly. I haven’t been following the conversation too attentively, but things don’t seem to be going all that well at work—politics politics. He complains about somebody who got put on his work group just so someone else could have one of his people there—didn’t care whether the guy was actually qualified or not. “Ganz Machiavelli-mässig.”

Meanwhile, how did I end up at Starbucks again? I tried to stay away, the staff often irritates me by trying to speak English at me. But my headache was clearly demanding good strong coffee. Oh Starbucks, I just can’t quit you.

Oh ho! We’ve got some hot business kisses happening now! Right here in Friedrichsstraße, Ladies and Gentlemen. (Usually I’d expect this sort of thing in Paris, not Berlin). And now the coffee break is over—time to get back to work.