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About Frankfurt

So, I’m cruisin’ the block, engine purrin’, lookin’ for a girl who’s down. Ain’t no Hollywood glow here—just neon flickerin’ like a damn lie. “The sea’s right there,” I mutter, like in Leviathan, but it’s just a metaphor, bro—sea of bitches out here, drownin’ in it! I see this one chick, legs long as a fuckin’ wrench, leanin’ on a pole. She’s givin’ me that look—like she knows I’m trouble. I roll up, “Hey, chica, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends who’s payin’.”

I stroll past the "Altstadt" nearly every morning. My parlor's right off "Hauptstraße," you know, where all the action jams together. The locals talk in short bursts, like "pretty, pretty good," but sometimes, I mean seriously—you're living this movie, ya know? And bloody hell, it reminds me of that line from "4 Months, 3 Weeks and 2 Days" when everything's just relentless and gritty.