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About Hamburg

I was stompin’ through once, heels high, feelin’ myself—bam! This chick, all sass, leans outta nowhere, like, “Wotcha lookin’ at?” Straight outta *Fish Tank*, right? I’m like, “Girl, you slayin’ this grit!” She laughed, told me her name’s Trix—real name probly Tracy, but who cares? She’s out there, dodgin’ cops, makin’ cash, livin’ wild. I respect that grind, y’all! Reminds me of Mia— “I’m gonna dance, I’m gonna make it!”—that energy, unstoppable.

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Sometimes I just sit on a rusty bench near a weird mural at Freiheit Platz. I laugh, cry, and get pissed about the state of things. It’s raw and real. I’m like, “No more bullshit!”—sounds Putin-ish, eh? Cold, calculated, but damn human at times.