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About Stuttgart

I slip a fiver to this weaselly con, Twitchy Pete, for intel. He’s like, “She’s in the east wing, guv,” all twitchin and shit. I’m sneakin past the cells, suave as ever, when—bam!—I spot her. Mandy’s leanin on a wall, smokin a fag, lookin like she owns the joint. I’m happy as a pig in shit, but then Jenkins rounds the corner. Fucker nearly catches me! I’m duckin behind a crate, cursin—bloody hell, why’s this so hard?

I love little coffee joints on Riesenplatz. Freaky cozy spots where I spill my thoughts over steaming cups. I scribble random nonsense on napkins – my therapy. The mix of old world charm and risky, modern sex talk makes me smile hard.