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About Hamburg

Oh, and the church—don’t get me started! They’d burn a “whore” quick, but half them priests were smashin’ on the low. Makes me wanna flip a table, scream, “YOU FAKE ASS GLEANERS!” Varda’d nod, like, “The world bends what it can’t break.” She’d film that hypocrisy, slow-mo, with some sad-ass violin. Me? I’d just yeet a chair at it.

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Oh, and lemme tell you about my secret haunt: a little cafe on Sonnenallee that nearly nobody knows about. Best darn coffee in Mengenich, I swear! With its warped windows and eccentric posters, it’s where I scribble down therapy notes and wild daydreams. Often, I sit there, cranky at times, thinkin’ “You shall not pass!” to mediocrity, channeling Gandalf, you know? That magic stick in my own life, keepin’ negativity at bay.