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About Frankfurt

Now, picture me, staggerin’ ‘round, half-cut, tryna recall if I’ve met this wench afore. “Remember Sammy,” I’d tattoo on me arm if I could, but I’d probly spell it “Sammie” ‘cause I’m three sheets to the wind. Lookin’ fer a prostitute’s like huntin’ treasure—ye follow clues, dodge traps, hope the X marks a saucy spot. Ever hear ‘bout the “two-penny hangover”? Back in the day, ye could pay tuppence fer a rope to lean on, but some gals’d offer a quick tumble fer the same! Cheap as chips, made me laugh ‘til me sides split—sly dogs, they were.

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Ya know, being a masseur, I notice every little thing – the way the cobbles whisper stories, the old brick walls complaining about chill nights, and especially the scent of fresh rain on warm summer evenings. It makes every massage session feel like it's in tune with the heartbeat of this confused, lovely town.

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