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About Stuttgart

Now, don’t get me wrong, it ain’t all roses. Some shady fellas lurk, makin’ my blood boil—reminds me of that scene where Otilia’s dealin’ with that sleazy guy. “You’re disgusting,” I’d holler, shakin’ my fist, probly trippin’ over my own boots ‘cause I’m clumsy as all get-out. But then, there’s this spark—met a gal once who said she’d dance circles ‘round me if I tried keepin’ up. Made me laugh ‘til my sides hurt! “Dolly,” I thought, “you’d be winded in two shakes!”

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You’d think it’s all shiny, but some parts are gritty. Like the quirks of the Deutschviertel, alleyways and tiny bars where every laugh sounds hapy and every secret is suprisedly bold. I even found a little hole-in-the-wall café near Ludwigsstraße where ideas exagerrated are born. It’s spontanious, man, the spirit is everywhere.

Helga Griffiths: Crossing