She returns to Berlin with her sketchbook full. Welcome home, says her mother, who collects her at the station and has supper ready for her in Reinhardtstrasse. Home? Coca-Cola, she’s noticed, is now on sale in the eastern half of Friedrichstrasse station, also in Pankow in the little store where she always shops, Coca-Cola same as in New York or Munich. Coca-Cola has succeeded, where Marxist philosophy has failed, at uniting the proletarians of all nations under its banner. Is this home?