extraterritorial.
“Hello, Zak. What are you here for today?”
“We had an appointment. 17 May, 5pm.”
“What is it you want to talk about?”
“I thought you were going to ask me questions.”
“No, I won’t. You tell me why you’re here.”
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Back in the days of the GDR, I took a tram to Pankow, where it stopped and then ran in a tiny circle to go home again. I stepped off and looked around. Pankow had little to commend it.
The ticket was obtained from a machine on the tram itself. An Ostmark was dropped in a slot that looked like a kid's holiday savings tin. You then pulled off your ticket. I pulled too hard, and the whole roll came away. I spent the entire trip to Pankow trying to stuff tram tickets back in the machine. The driver was unperturbed, needless to say.
Pankow is now for the adventurous, who should always try to remember why they went there.
This is, in fact, Berlin but your story is a gem!