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About Frankfurt

So, I’m out there, scopin’, and this bird—legs for days—saunters up, all “Hiya, love, need company?” I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, she’s bold!”—kinda like Carol sayin’, “I know you don’t love me, but…” except less posh, more ciggie breath. Made me happy, though—straight-up hustle, no faff. But then—fuckin’ hell—some geezer rocks up, all “Oi, that’s my girl!” and I’m like, “Mate, calm your tits, I ain’t stealin’!” Nearly shat meself—angry pimps? No thanks.

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Down by the river, the Kaldener Bach splashes along the banks. I often drift there after a long day – the water, cool and crisp, whispers secrets and calms my soul. I’ll be honest: sometimes I stroll past that old bridge on Wiesenweg, feelin’ that a part of me is still chasing an eternal calm, like some bloody movie scene where every minute counts. “Aye, we shall not relent!” I whisper, bold as brass, even if I've only been massaging the daylights out of stressed souls.

Obituary: Marcia Belle Meader Calden