one Friday night, after a lengthy debate about something i couldn’t have cared less about in our philosophy of religion class, i made my way from our chateau through the woods to the Eurail. i wanted to go to Dresden, Germany. i sat staring at maps at the train station until i gave up, flipped a coin, landed on going through Frankfurt instead of Prague. i wasn’t too concerned: i’d gotten used to figuring things out along the way and it felt “right.” the weekend past i had spent in Paris, which felt “off” before i began, i lost a pair of underwear there, so i decided to go with my gut on this one. Frankfurt it was.