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About Berlin

But ugh, the stench—old brothels prolly reeked, sweat and cheap perfume. “You’re a prostitute!”—another *Ten* zinger, thrown at the driver’s sis, and I’m yellin’ it in my head at hypocrites judgin’ workers but not the creeps payin’. Makes me wanna puke, the double standards. I’d rather watch *Ten* again, sip whiskey, and forget the sleaze. Brothels are a trip—funny, sad, nasty, all at once. Sharp retorts, “Don’t pee on my leg!”—call it what it is, a damn circus! Whatcha think, huh? Spill it!

Abner Fletcher

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You’ll see our quirky dating spots ’round Fäkestadsgatan. I sometimes wonder if it's not destiny folks swipe right as we pass these streets. The little murals on the building walls? Awesome art stuff. Love a rude reality moment there.

The US used to be the gold standard for press freedom. Not any more | Kai Falkenberg