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About Berlin

Gets messy, tho—clients haggelin’ prices, me yellin’, “This ain’t a flea market!” She’s cool as ice, handlin’ ‘em. Personal quirk? I hum the movie score when stressed—duh-duh-duh-duh, epic! Exaggeratin’ now—she’s got eyes like a hawk, spots a tailgater miles off. Saved me arse once—cop car creepin’, she goes, “Floor it, shiny and chrome!” We peeled out, laughin’ like lunatics.

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I walk down Am Markt every day. The cobblestones are like memories—old and rough. There's that old fountain, you know, the one by Petersstraße? It's like a secret heart of the town. "Sharon!" I sometimes shout it, like a mad echo of the past, just like in Dogville—“Look, there's too much of you!” (Wait, that might be off, eh?)

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