Joy and shudder at the same time, as in the past when reading scary stories, is the feeling of time.
The whole collective “Finally!” That lies above all the café tables, ticket purchases, quick test centers, European championship flags, is far too reminiscent of last summer in its euphoria.
And what came after that.
The feeling that there is something deceptive about this summer fresh security cannot be shaken off. And bitterness creeps in between. Didn't we hope that things would change here and there that weren't really going well before Corona? We are still waiting for the lessons to be learned from the pandemic, while films, plays and performances are announced in packets that were put on hold during the lockdown phase. At best, you can talk about it afterwards in small groups in front of the art houses.
And while the theater-goers are dutifully updated daily and sit motionless at a distance with a mask, the test-free and mask-free lump formation increases. The museums meticulously count whether 43 or even 47 people are allowed to haunt around at the same time on four floors ventilated up to storm force, often not as many come as are allowed. Meanwhile, the discounter offers everything for a hearty football party as if nothing had happened. XXL packs with pork sausages, hundreds of paper plates and cups, giant bags of charcoal, liter bottles of ketchup, in anticipation of a summer fairy tale that doesn't look like a lonely celebration. It's creepy.