Chris, never a year older than 26. I went back to the Cuvrystreet in Berlin the day after I heard the news, the place by the riverside where I last saw him. I bought a flower and thought of the times when I cut his hair underneath street lightning, talked about French girls, defied the sun in the park. Thought about his perfectly timed remarks, his humility, his ripped trousers he refused to call trousers, his high-pitched humming, his soothing eyes, stripe patterns and his incredible smile. Goodbye Chris.