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About Salzburg

Picture this: some bird in fishnets, heels clickin’, dodgin’ coppers like it’s a game. I’ve seen ‘em, skulkin’ in shadows, laughin’ at the prudes. Makes me grin—proper cheeky. Back in the day, whores ran shit! Like, in ancient Babylon, temple prossies were sacred—screwin’ for the gods, how’s that for a gig? Bet they’d smirk at us now, all judgy and posh. “I don’t sell myself,” one told me once—liar, but ballsy! Loved that. Reminds me of *Ten* again—“What’s your price?” she asks. Everyone’s got one, don’t they?

Mistelbach

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Then there's the local cafés around Markusplatz. I swear they smell like freshly baked donuts (mmm… donuts, again). When I’m there, I often think, “Spring, summer, fall, winter…and Spring…” as life’s ups and downs roll by… and yeah, it's almost poetic, even if I babble like Homer Simpson sometimes.

Leopold Hawelka