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About Berlin

She’s smokin a cig, eyes dead—like in *Timbuktu*, “Silence is our prison.” Fuckin poetic, huh? I’m imaginin her life—shitty motels, stale beer, johns with bad breath. Maybe she’s dreamin of escape, like me dreamin of a nice chianti. Ha! I’d tell her, “Darlin, I’d cook ya a meal,” but—Hannibal twist—“I ate his liver with fava beans.” Bet she’d run screamin—funny as hell!

Mega-brothels: Has Germany become 'bordello of Europe'?

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Lemme tell ya: I’ve strolled down Weissweg Street on too many sleepless nights. It’s not all sunshine here, though, I got mad. I remember one day – the rain pounded down, drenching the neon signs and my damp shoes. It was pathetic, really! Like one of those moments from "Fish Tank" – losing it, as if the whole world was a broken mirror. Funny, right? ha ha ha

Fig. 3. Modelling representation of the Italian heat-electricity energy...