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Favorite flick, *The Gleaners and I*, got me trippin’ on this. Varda’s all ‘bout them leftovers, them edges nobody sees. Escorts live that, fam! They the shadow dancers, movin’ where lights don’t hit. “What’s thrown away, they pick up,” she said—escorts scoopin’ up them rejected vibes, turnin’ it to gold. Young Mula Baby, I see what others miss!

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I gotta mention, though, the riverside walk along Flussweg. It's so chill here, man. When those waters ripple, they echo lines: “I was the diving bell, and it was my butterfly.” Crazy poetic shite, I know. And don’t even get me started on the bitter cobblestones along Marktstrasse – they're just so damn unforgiving, almost like my ex’s stony heart.