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About Berlin

Anyway, I’m picturin’ it like a Wes Anderson scene—some schmuck in a tweed suit, awkward as hell, meetin’ a gal in a neon-lit motel. “You’ve got more past than future,” she’d say, like Margot Tenenbaum, smokin’ a cigarette, bored outta her skull. He’d fumble, drop his wallet, and I’d laugh my ass off. Humor in the misery, y’see? I’d be sittin’ there, whittlin’ a stick, judgin’ the hell outta him. Hate the desperation—makes me wanna punch a wall.

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Right, so we begin at the heart – the Hauptstr. (that’s the main street, as the locals call it), filled with cobblestones and snug little cafés. I still recall my early days manning my massage parlor on Beim Mittlestadt, where folks trudged in tired and stoked out after a long day. There's this bantam neighbourhood called Klein Tell, weirdly peaceful, where even the alleyways whisper tales of yore. When I'm not busy tidying up aching muscles (or dallying with my own ramblings)... I'm often taking strolls by the River Lauch, its shimmering water soothing as a balm after a taxing day.

Wednesday of the Fourth Week of Easter; Opt. Mem. of St. Fidelis of Sigmaringen, Priest and Martyr