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About Munich

Now, I ain’t never been in no brothel—lordy, I’d blush somethin’ fierce—but I heard tell o’ one in Nevada, real old, from the 1800s. Still standin’! Them gals had nicknames like “Saddle Sally”—makes me giggle thinkin’ o’ it. Imagine designin’ that: dusty beds, whiskey stains, maybe a ghost o’ some cowboy too broke to leave! Little fact fer ya: them brothels had secret tunnels sometimes—escape routes fer cheatin’ husbands. Ain’t that wild?

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The city's got its patches—you got your old town around Marktstraße, where the ancient church stands like a sore thumb in the middle of modern bullshit. I often walk by Schloss Mechernich on the outskirts. That castle? It’s all moss and history. I frequent the little park near the Rur river. The river's a snarl of water if you ask me, but sometimes I sit there at dusk for a few minutes. It’s like the calm in the storm of my everyday life.

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