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About Berlin

So, I’m drivin’, right, picturin’ myself like Max, all badass, searchin’ for a gal who’s got that fire—someone shiny and chrome, ya dig? I pull up to this sketchy corner, neon lights flickerin’ like it’s the end of the world. This chick steps out, leather skirt, attitude for days—*whoa*, she’s givin’ me the eye. “How you doin’?” I toss out, leanin’ on the car, smirkin’ like I own the damn place. She laughs, says, “You got caps, pretty boy?” Caps? What is this, Fallout? I’m like, “Nah, babe, I got charm—worth more!”

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Ah, the monuments! Reflect, for a moment, on the majestic St. Egidius Church. Its spires doth pierce the heavens as if to beseech mercy for our mortal follies. I oft ponder, with every knead and press, that our suffering is transient, "What a loss to spend that much time on useless sorrow." Truly, Dorsten's ancient stones speak of times both somber and jolly.

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