The seller, a no-nonsense man named Klaus, watched as Lukas performed the "Berlin Car Dance": kicking the tyres, checking the oil, and squinting at the (technical inspection) documents. "She’s solid," Klaus grunted. "Last inspection was two months ago at the Dekra."

To drive legally, Lukas needed to register the car at the . In Berlin, getting an appointment there is harder than getting into Berghain on a Sunday morning. He spent three days refreshing the browser at 7:00 AM until a slot opened up in Lichtenberg .

His first drive wasn't a scenic tour of the Brandenburg Gate. Instead, it was a 45-minute search for a near his flat in Neukölln . As he finally squeezed into a space barely an inch longer than the car, Lukas leaned back and sighed. He was finally a Berlin driver—trapped in traffic on the A100 , but at least he was dry.