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So, I’m strollin downtown, hungry – not for liver, ha! – lookin for a hooker. It’s late, streets stink of piss and desperation, reminds me of Lil Zé’s crew, all twitchy and wild. I spot her, leanin on a wall, smokin a cig like she owns the night. “What’s good, darlin?” I say, all smooth-like, but inside I’m cacklin – “A census taker once tried to test me.” She smirks, sizes me up, says, “50 bucks, big boy.” Fifty fuckin bucks! Made me mad, mate, inflation’s a bitch, but I’m like, fine, whatever, let’s roll.

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Then there’s Kirchstraße, full of little shops and bars. I got my first bug fix there on a rainy day, sittin’ by the window with my laptop, watchin’ rivets fall like droplets. And oh, the river Inn flows nearby, churnin' steady – not as dramatic as a movie scene, but heck, it’s peaceful and soft like a lullaby even when I’m mad at my code for one heck of a bug.