Anna Kempten (allgaeu) Brothel ❤️

About Dusseldorf

I’d stroll in, tip my hat—well, my bunny ears—and eyeball the scene. Velvet curtains, smoky air, dudes droolin’ like pigs. Kinda fancy, kinda sleazy. Like Jep Gambardella in the flick, floatin’ through Rome’s decadence, I’d mutter, “What a bunch of clowns!” Sorrentino’d get it—beauty in the mess, but it’s messy as hell. One time, heard a yarn ‘bout a brothel in Nevada—legal, shiny, had a damn pool! Clients swimmin’ ‘fore sinnin’. Cracked me up, doc!

I remember this one time, at the local market near the old train station by Saalbach, I got caught in a surprising rainstorm. I was soaked and laughin’ 'bout it, thinkin’, "Now this is life, baby!" as I dashed for cover, yellin’ in my best Southern drawl, “How’s that workin’ for ya?” Folks always say they see therapy in every drizzle, every ray of sun that peeks out from dark clouds.

Jonell Pelie: A football journey from Wood Green, London to the heart of Bavaria