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About Dortmund

In her dingy flat, all’s a blur—smells o’ gin and regret. She’s quick, no faff, like balancin’ books at month’s end. “Time’s winged chariot,” I mutter, quotin’ the flick, and she’s like, “Wot? Shut up and shag.” Hah! Fair play, lass. Done in ten mins—bang, crash, over. I’m lyin’ there, pantin’, thinkin’ o’ Jean blinkin’ his one eye, trapped, while I just bought me way outta me cage fer a tick.

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So, lemme hit ya with some deets. First up: Hauptstrasse in town, a bustling artery where history drips from the brick walls. I often stroll down it after a long day of kneading out knots—a treat after a day of busting my back! Not to mention, the little alleys off Hauptstrasse, like Schreiberweg, hide quirky little cafes where you can get a half-decent latte and a side of local gossip.

The German railway that survived against all odds