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About Frankfurt

Now, findin’ one’s tricky – can’t just yell, “Oi, prossie, over here!” Nah, ya gotta slink, watch, maybe cough up some coin first. Me, I’m skint, so I just stare – creepy, sure, but smeagol’s got no shame! Once got chased off by a pimp – big fella, swinging a chain. “You’re so fuckin’ honest,” Celine’d say – yeah, honest ‘bout bein’ a coward!

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Now lemme share somethin’ personal: I'm a counselor, right? So I peep what others miss. Like this lil’ tucked-away park by Marktstr., near the rusty red clock tower – reminds me of those fragile moments in “Stories We Tell” where truths break into pieces. “But what is a story, really, if not a collection of the heart’s scars and smiles?” – yeah, kinda like that.

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