The clubhouse was an ugly compound, hidden away behind a row of trees. Its gray, grainy-looking walls reminded Domenico of the concrete walls of cheap housing in the eastern part of Berlin. The clouds had grown unusually thick in the last hour, big puffs of dirty white, with a layer of gray at the bottom. Add the sickly humid air, and all Domenico could think about was the storm that would surely leave him drenched on the way back home.