apostrophes

content/20260520_stadt.md

@@ -13,7 +13,7 @@ A weekly activity during my teenage years in <span class="yellow">████
 
 I usually started at *Cocktail*, a small but well-stocked comic book store where I would spend at least an hour browsing graphic novels, peeking into the rather explicitly pornographic pages of *Heavy Metal*, getting lost in the works of *Moebius*, or checking the latest arrivals in the manga section, especially anything involving mechas or cyberpunk themes. I became a devoted fan of the *Appleseed* series and bought each German translation as it was released.
 
-One snack option was then to head to *McDonald’s*, find a corner, stuff myself with a *McRib* or *Big Mac*, and lose myself in *Kino News*, the free periodical from the counter featuring reviews of upcoming films. That generally provided enough energy to handle the next obvious destination: *Galeria Horten*, an enormous seven-floor department store in a horrendous post-war modernist style, instantly recognizable for its glass facade and dizzying tile patterns wrapped around its cubiform mass. 
+One snack option was then to head to *McDonald's*, find a corner, stuff myself with a *McRib* or *Big Mac*, and lose myself in *Kino News*, the free periodical from the counter featuring reviews of upcoming films. That generally provided enough energy to handle the next obvious destination: *Galeria Horten*, an enormous seven-floor department store in a horrendous post-war modernist style, instantly recognizable for its glass facade and dizzying tile patterns wrapped around its cubiform mass. 
 
 Caring nothing for the excessively intrusive nightmare of surplus goods and squirming hordes of consumers, I usually entered through a side-entrance and headed straight for the book section in the rear left corner of the ground floor to check the latest science fiction paperback releases. Then I'd sneak into the tucked-away elevator just around the corner, avoiding the horror of having to navigate the deliberately deceptive escalator maze, and ride up to the music CD section on the fourth floor. Back when I was still in my pre-metal alternative rock phase, I discovered a huge amount of music here by choosing random releases based purely on the album art, and asking the guy at the counter if I could give them a listen. The fastest escape route from here was up to the next floor, a huge cafeteria with panoramic windows overlooking the 1960s vision of progress below: tramlines, bus platforms, and multilane roads tangled together in a pedestrian nightmare. A separate glass elevator connected the cafeteria directly to ground zero, providing a swift escape.
 
@@ -23,6 +23,6 @@ My social batteries recharged but now hungry, I would usually head back through
 
 In later years, when my tastes in music and reading had evolved toward more sophisticated niche genres, I tended to avoid the crowded places altogether and spend more time in some of the more off-the-beaten-path shops. Bookstores aimed at a more academic or university student crowd attracted me like magnets, and I would take detours to hidden backyard record stores that had lesser-known artists in stock for me to discover, with staff who were generally far more knowledgeable and patient than those in the mainstream places.
 
-Another option was always the public library, a place I had loved ever since I first stepped into it as a child. I remember spending hours and hours poring over comics and scientific picture books, and later discovering authors I would read obsessively, such as *Stanisław Lem* or *H.P. Lovecraft*. They even had a small occult book section in which I spent far too much time. And CDs to borrow (and illegally copy to cassette tapes). I vividly recall countless afternoons in that library, carrying around notes of things I needed to research to satisfy my curiosity and fill in gaps that our *Encarta ’95* CD-ROM encyclopedia at home could only insufficiently cover.
+Another option was always the public library, a place I had loved ever since I first stepped into it as a child. I remember spending hours and hours poring over comics and scientific picture books, and later discovering authors I would read obsessively, such as *Stanisław Lem* or *H.P. Lovecraft*. They even had a small occult book section in which I spent far too much time. And CDs to borrow (and illegally copy to cassette tapes). I vividly recall countless afternoons in that library, carrying around notes of things I needed to research to satisfy my curiosity and fill in gaps that our *Encarta '95* CD-ROM encyclopedia at home could only insufficiently cover.
 
 In retrospect, "downtown" was the [chronotope](/pages/glossary.html) of my teenage becoming. Those weekly trips were how I discovered music, books, art, ideas, and subcultures that shaped my identity. When I'm in <span class="yellow">██████████</span> I still occasionally walk the same route, though almost none of the shops still exist. And yet these ghosts of places continue to carry my memories: specific albums, books, games, moments of discovery, even moods I was in when they happened. Encountering culture then felt tangible and biographical, tied to places, moments, chance, rather than the timeless, placeless abundance of the digital today. God, I sound old.