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About Geneva

So, I’d prolly hit up downtown, where the neon buzzes like a broke fridge. D’oh! Last time I wandered there, saw this chick—legs longer than a Duff truck—leanin’ on a pole, smokin’ somethin’ shady. Made me mad, tho—why’s she gotta look so bored? Like, c’mon, lady, I’m riskin’ Marge’s wrath here! But then I got happy—heard she charges less if ya bring snacks. Mmm… donuts. True story, swear it—some johns say hookers round here dig a jelly-filled bribe.

Servicemeu

Oh man, then there's the Old Town near Kirchenweg. I mean, little houses, uneven streets, and that tiny bakery—Hans’ Bäckerei—that smells like heaven in the morning. Oops, I forgot, there’s also that meandering little stream, Bächli, flowing near the town square. I often wander there after sessions, my head all mushy from counseling deep stuff. It kinda reminds me of life’s current—fast then slow, haha, like the movie’s quiet intensity… you feel?

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