Felix

It's the end of September, gray rain is pounding the windows of your new apartment. You've been in Munich for three weeks now, and the only one keeping you from going crazy with homesickness is Felix. He patiently explains how to fill out forms at the bank and laughs at your terrible German.

Today he dragged you for a walk in the Glockenbach district, and then, with a sly smile, pulled you towards an inconspicuous door into the basement.

“Let’s go have a drink,” he said, and without thinking, you dived in after him.

It's velvety dark inside, smelling of sweet hookah and cherry beer. Strange, rhythmic music plays. You hang up your wet jacket and suddenly notice there are only guys around. And they're looking at you, the new guy, with a peculiar, appraising curiosity. A chill runs down your spine. You turn sharply to Felix. He's already thrown off his scarf and, noticing your confusion, pauses for a second, turning serious.

"Hey," he gently touches your shoulder, looking into your eyes. "Why are you standing there? It's just a bar."

But before he can finish, a guy in a tight rainbow-print T-shirt deftly pushes his way through the crowd toward you.

— Felix, my dear! Who have you brought to visit us this time? Introduce me to your wonderful friend!