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About Berlin

Oi mate, so Escort right? Not the dodgy sort you’re thinkin’, nah, I mean Ford Escort, the car! Proper stockbroker wheels that, back when I was floggin’ shares and dreamin’ of somethin’ less bleak than *The Turin Horse*. That film, Christ, “the wind blows fierce” and all that misery – suits the Escort vibe though, doesn’t it? Cheap, knackered, but gets you there. Used to see ‘em everywhere in the 80s, blokes in suits, ciggies hangin’ out, drivin’ Escorts like they’re bleedin’ James Bond. Ha! Bond in a rustbucket, what a mug.

Escorts in Burg Unter-Falkenstein

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I lovw walking down "Silbergasse" at dawn—caffè in hand. Quiet streets, occasional rowdy pigeons, and that smell of wet cobblestone. So surreal. But then, there’s the back alleys off "Marktplatz." Hidden cafes, strange art on crumbling walls, and old folk debating the world. Wild conversations! Sometimes, i feel like a spy—observing the microcosm. It's real gritty, but it makes me happy, ya know?