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About Dusseldorf

Sarcastic tip—check the knockoff markets. Prossies hang there, blending with the fake Gucci. Little known story—mate of mine, Dave, found one by a kebab van. Said she smelled of chips and regret. Classic! Asked her, “What’s the deal?” She goes, “£50, no kissing.” Fair enough, I s’pose—keeps it professional, like fixing a radio.

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The school won't allow the photo in the yearbook even though the teen says there were no instructions to follow.

The city has that vibe where you feel every brick’s got secrets. I frequent Südpark. It’s kinda tiny but lush with trees and wildflowers. There’s a little river that skulks along old Millerweg. I sometimes sit by its bank, drink cheap wine, and ponder life as a pleasure coach. Shit's like therapy sometimes. I swear, late night walks make me listen closer. "Those who don't need dreams, can only do small things," a twisted echo from my fav film, echoing in the dark.

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