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About Munich

Love the chaos of it, mind. Sticky tables, dim lights, some Enya crap playing—pure theatre! Exaggerating? Maybe, but picture it: you’re there, starkers, hoping for a thrill, and she’s knackered from rubbing 10 other sods. “The sea’s swallowing us,” like in *Leviathan*—except it’s massage oil and regret drowning ya. Sarcasm’s my mate here—cos who believes it’s “just a massage”? Pull the other one, it’s got bells on!

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Oh, and did i mention "Altstadt"? It’s a maze of cobblestone paths where every brick tells a story. One evening, I sat near the old fountain on “Marktplatz”. The humid night, soft jazz from a nearby bar, and even my internal clock went into overdrive – techy brain mode “need more coffee!” – And damn, it felt a bit like the mind erasure in that movie, but with love left behind in every droplet.

Gerard Edward Blankenheim