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Oh, and the smell—stale beer, cheap perfume—hits ya like a truck. Kinda love it, kinda hate it. Reminds me of life, y’know? Messy, raw, real. So, yeah, findin’ a prostitute? It’s a trip, a freaky, wild ride. Next time yer out there, grin like me—maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!”—and soak it all in, ‘cause it’s a story worth tellin’.

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You got neighborhoods like Nordburg. I wander there sometimes. People act like they're in a Norman Rockwell painting. Hype and sugar all over every corner. Meanwhile, my dating site just sees a bunch of profiles and banned emojos. Yet, in other parts, like the Backstreets off Lichtenberg Str., it's raw. Real, like a punch in the face. You feel emotions, and sometimes anger, like Malick’s voice whisperin: "The beauty of life is in the little things that make us mad."