With Luca to Formula 1 in Monte Carlo The Formula 1 Grand Prix in Monte Carlo was in full swing. The city streets were no longer driven by cars but by artworks on wheels, each gear change sounding as if the devil himself were crouching inside the clutch. I was there with my friend Luca – born in Italy, a DJ and womanizer in Berlin, and in Monte Carlo officially just a “tourist.” We stood near the harbor, hemmed in by people, engine noise, and security fences, behind which moved the world of the rich: film and football stars, models, and billionaires. All the beauty of the world seemed to belong to the VIP paddock club that day. We didn’t. The sky was deep blue, the sun burned down on us. It was clear: we had to find a better spot for ourselves soon. “ I think up there on the rooftop terrace you can get a good view of the race too,” Luca said, pointing at a posh building right by the track. He wore an unbuttoned white linen shirt that generously revealed his smooth-shaven ches...
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