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Anyway, I saunter over, all smooth-like. “Ciao, bella,” I say, channelin’ Jep’s charm. She’s nervous, hands shaky—makes me feel a bit sad, ya know? “This city’s a graveyard,” I think, quotin’ *The Great Beauty* in my head. She’s quotin’ a price, 50 euros, cheap as chips. I’m like, “Love, you’re worth more,” but she don’t get it. Makes me mad—pimps grindin’ her down, fuckin’ bastards. I wanna punch somethin’, but I’m Bond, so I smirk instead.

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I was catchin a sunset near the old windmill at Finkenhorst one day, and man, it blew my mind. The golden hour hitting that rusted wheel was like watching a physics simulation freak out over unexpected conditions. It made me laugh like a mad scientist who’s lost his lab coat – I could almost hear “A Serious Man” echo in my head: “It’s all your fault.” But then again, it's just Boizenburg doing its thing.

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