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About Graz

So, I’m cruisin’ the block, engine purrin’, lookin’ for a girl who’s down. Ain’t no Hollywood glow here—just neon flickerin’ like a damn lie. “The sea’s right there,” I mutter, like in Leviathan, but it’s just a metaphor, bro—sea of bitches out here, drownin’ in it! I see this one chick, legs long as a fuckin’ wrench, leanin’ on a pole. She’s givin’ me that look—like she knows I’m trouble. I roll up, “Hey, chica, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends who’s payin’.”

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There’s plenty of green, too. The Inn River cuts right through. Refreshing? Sure, if you like damp cold water. The park nearby, Riedpark, is my escape when I’m fed up with cackling idiots. I sometimes sit, chill out, and think: “I drink your milkshake.” Yep, I went there!