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About Munich

So, I’m thinkin’, why not? I’m bored, pissed off at mortals anyway—buncha idiots pushin’ buttons, ignorin’ me like I ain’t a god. Findin’ a prossie sounds like a laugh, a little chaos to stir the pot. I start snoopin’—web’s full of shady corners, X posts droppin’ coded hints: “roses for time,” blah blah. Little known fact? Back in Victorian days, they called ‘em “soiled doves”—poetic, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ of some posh git in a top hat hagglin’ with a lass in a corset.

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You know what? In Oberndorf, our park—yes, our own little slice of heaven—is the Volksgarten. It's a chill spot, where I sometimes sneak away to clear my head. I always think of “The Hurt Locker” when I'm seein’ those old, worn benches by the pond; reminds me of all the struggles and sacrifices, like those bombs droppin’ in the movie, BOOM! But hey, life here is a series of small explosions of joy and anger, ya feel me?

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