Juan's Quest for Identity

"Dude, it's not that big a deal," said Max. "I mean, Germany is like, the least American of Europe."

"But I'm from New York City, man. You know what the Americans think of Germany--the Germans in particular?"

Max shrugged. "Isn't it all just German? Like, I bet if you went to Bavaria, people would understand what you're saying."

"I don't know about all that," said Juan. "And anyway, I'm not going to Bavaria. I'm going to Berlin."

"What's so special about Berlin?"

"Like anything else in Germany? Nothing, right? It's all just German." Juan threw his arms out wide and let out a hearty laugh. He looked around to see if anyone was looking at him, but the other passengers were mostly ignoring him and Max on account of how they were getting ready to land at Frankfurt International Airport. They'd been flying for two hours now--not nearly as long as it felt like--and finally they could get off the plane.

Juan had been looking forward to this trip for months now--longer than he cared to admit--and he couldn't wait to get his feet on the ground in Germany. He was excited about seeing an actual European country for the first time in his life; he was even more excited about seeing a German city for the first time ever; and most of all he was excited about meeting Herr Hacker for the first time since setting up their fateful Skype call nearly three months ago now. Juan knew little about Herr Hacker beyond what he had told him over that first call: that he was a native German living in Berlin who had been living abroad for too long and wanted to go back home and discover what made Germany so special again; and that Juan should join him on this quest when he could manage to make it to Europe himself. That had been a month ago, and there hadn't been much more communication between them since then except for an occasional email or message sent back and forth across various channels of encryption. But still, Juan felt like he already knew Herr Hacker pretty well--better than he knew most of his childhood friends back in New York City--and looked forward to getting some real face-to-face time with him soon.

"Hey man, we're here," said Max as they exited the plane and went down a long corridor toward customs.

"Damnit!" said Juan with a startle. "You trying to give me a heart attack?"

Max shrugged again and started walking toward the customs area without answering him directly. This was just like Max: always one step behind you or ahead of you or sideways from you or whatever direction it took in order to avoid walking next to you entirely--even though both of you were heading in the same direction at the same exact moment right then and there in that airport corridor together at that very moment in time. It was part of why they hadn't stayed close friends when they were kids anymore these days: because even though they lived across from each other (literally), they barely talked anymore through high school, college (for Max) or post-college (for Juan). Sometimes Juan wondered whether Max would've talked less if they lived farther apart instead of closer together.

But anyway: Juan didn't mind too much about having Max along with him for this trip for several reasons: one being that he knew Max wouldn't be sticking around for long once they got into the city; another being that Max wasn't really related at all by blood to any part of his family back home besides his grandmother (who was too old now or maybe mentally ill enough not to remember her own name half the time); and a third being that while they were still friends when they were kids (or whatever it is you want to call it), Juan still considered Max one of his closest non-family friends even if they didn't talk much anymore these days either way. So yeah: it made sense why Max would tag along with Juan on this trip after all; but then again, maybe not so much either way depending on how you look at it either way depending on how you look at things sometimes but then again maybe not so much either way depending on how you look at things sometimes but then again...

Anyways: after getting through customs without any issues whatsoever (a rarity given recent events) thanks largely in part due to Max's connections within various agencies throughout Europe, the two began making their way outside toward where their driver should hopefully be waiting with their car, which also happened to be one helluva ride according [to] almost everyone who'd taken it before them: built specifically [by] engineers from BMW who left their company years before [in] protest against their parent company's decision [to] merge with Daimler AG (a move which never materialized). The car was supposedly hand-built by some of those same engineers back when they left but eventually flourished into its own manufacturing company somewhere else out East somewhere else overseas somewhere else elsewhere away from Europe somewhere far away from America somewhere far away from anything familiar at all...

But anyway: while waiting outside by themselves near where their driver should be waiting with their car right around now right here right now right outside Frankfurt International Airport right here right now right outside Frankfurt International Airport right here right now...

"So..." said Max. "You nervous yet?"

"Nah," said Juan. "Why should I be? We've known each other forever."

Max hesitated before answering him--clearly struggling with what words might come next out of his mouth before finally settling on something succinct enough as opposed to whatever nonsense might've otherwise poured out otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise otherwise...

"Yeah," said Max finally without further elaboration whatsoever regardless whichever direction one might take that word anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway anyway...