After five years living in the forest with his dad, whom Ray claims he buried in a shallow grave after he died a couple of weeks ago, he realised that Berlin was “the place to be”. Finally, that much-derided city marketing campaign is working and attracting cutting edge youngsters from around the continent.
Meanwhile, The Guardian, red with envy about the success of the Pirate Party, is just creaming itself over Forest Boy’s awesomeness. I mean, it’s so unfair he didn’t stroll into London. Not since Knut, the polar bear, has a Berlin wild child captured the world’s imagination.
Judging by Ray’s rad haircut, he’s going to fit right in to the creative scene here. He’s probably already checked out the bars on Weserstraße – to much disappointment. Overhearing all the platitudinous English banter (he is fluent after all) about Vice internships and the like, I’m sure he immediately figured out that NK is sooo fucking over, mate.
I bet he’s scouting for a dirt-cheap place in Moabit or Wedding or elsewhere in the Wild West, like edgy, whore-ridden Stuttgarter Platz, where he can hole up with a crate of Club Mate and get to work on his upcoming performance art project/concept album/blog/novel in peace.
For all you Forest Boy doubters out there: the police said he’s the real deal. Or else they’re in on one of the best PR stunts made in Berlin since the fall of the Berlin Wall.