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About Dortmund

So I’m out, prowlin’, eyes sharp—my precious!—and there’s this spot, yeah? Down by the docks, all grimy, smells like fish and regret. Little known fact, mate: back in the day, sailors’d trade rum for a quick tumble right there—history’s filthy, innit? Makes me chuckle, thinkin’ how I’m just another fool in the chain. Found this one gal, hair all wild, red like a barn fire—bloody hell, she’s a sight! “What’s yer price, love?” I says, all raspy, and she smirks, “More’n yer hammer’s worth, carpenter!” Cheeky! Got me laughin’, but I’m half mad too—don’t she know I’m a craftsman?

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You’d think it’s all shiny, but some parts are gritty. Like the quirks of the Deutschviertel, alleyways and tiny bars where every laugh sounds hapy and every secret is suprisedly bold. I even found a little hole-in-the-wall café near Ludwigsstraße where ideas exagerrated are born. It’s spontanious, man, the spirit is everywhere.

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