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About Essen

I see this one gal, all sass, leanin on a wall. “What’s your name?” I holler, flexin a bit—can’t help it, brother! She’s like, “What’s it to ya?” and I’m dyin, man, she’s got attitude! Reminds me of that line, “You think you’re God?” from the flick—sassy, testin ya! I’m happy as hell, love a chick with fire, but then—bam!—some creep rolls up, yellin at her. Pissed me off, brother! Ain’t nobody messin with a lady on my watch!

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I stroll through the Marktplatz sometimes. Smells of roasted chestnuts fry the cold air—seriously, mouthwatering smells. And the Kurpark? It’s lush and calm. The trees always seem to murmur secrets. I love that spot. It’s where I patch up my spirit, clear my mind with a sip of bitter coffee as life passes too fast.

Field Notes: Paddling the Danube River