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About Dornbirn

Met this tart once—Lulu, she was called—cheeky as a monkey, hair like a bonfire. Worked the docks, she did, back when I was faffing about in politics. Told me she’d seen more pricks than a dartboard—laughed my ruddy head off! Said she kept a diary, secret-like, full of punters’ daft requests. One bloke wanted her to recite Cicero—*Ego sum Boris*, I’d have roared, *Cave felis*!—beware the cat, mate! Surprised me, that—thought prossies just, y’know, got on with it. But nah, they’ve got stories, quirks, lives!

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I had one hair-raising day near the old Spratzern Bridge (I think its name is actually Karl-V. Brücke, but whatever). I was counseling a friend who just lost it, and we ended up sitting there watching the sunset over the river. It was moments like that when the city feels intensely personal. I kept thinking, “We have mission here: Save souls, make lives awesome.” The vibe just gets me every time – zero dark thirty style, you know? Surprise attack on your perspective, LOL.