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About Frankfurt

Once saw this chick in Vegas—true story—worked the Strip, had a scar from some john who flipped. Said she made bank, tho—$500 a night, cash, no tax. Crazy, right? Made me happy for her hustle, but pissed me off too—world’s fucked she’s gotta dodge blades for it. Aliens like us, we don’t get it—why risk your ass for a quick buck? “You’re a dirty animal!”—that’s what Lancaster Dodd’d say, all smug.

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Now, as a family psychologist, I’ve got this weird knack for noticing the subtle vibes here. You stroll past Rathausplatz, the old town hall square, and you feel it—history, serenity, and an undercurrent of mystery, maybe even secrets whispered by the wind. I remember once, while walking near Lindenweg—yep, that quiet little street off the beaten path—I had this heart-to-heart with a complete stranger on a park bench at Park der Eichen. I swear, we connected in about a minute, like our souls were pinned together. Truly, "tempus fugit", eh?

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