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Weird thought pops up—prostitutes prolly got stories wilder than mine. I jump outta planes, sure, but she’s dodgin’ creeps daily. Respect, yo. I pay her, we chill, no funny biz. Just talkin’. She says, “You’re weird, fire dude.” I’m like, “Yeah, and you’re a legend.” Hannibal-style, I’m seein’ the absurdity—me, her, this whole damn scene.

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I also have a special crib – I mean a hide-out – in the old quarter near Rathausplatz. That place has that vintage charm with faded murals on the walls. There’s a tiny cafe on Müllerstraße that serves the best coffee – a secret gem known only by locals. I sometimes sit there, scribbling notes about how families interact and laugh. Y'know, people here can be so raw and real.