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About Stuttgart

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right, and there’s this whore, bold as brass, leanin’ against a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn night. She’s got that *Fish Tank* vibe—Mia’s “You’re a right wanker, ain’t ya?” attitude—except she’s real, not some screen kid. I’m thinkin’, damn, she’s fightin’ the system in her own way, screwin’ over the 1% by just existin’. Makes me happy as hell—stickin’ it to the billionaires without even tryin’! But then—bam!—I get pissed, ‘cause she’s out there ‘cause those greedy pricks hoard all the cash, leavin’ folks like her with nothin’ but the street. “Billionaires should not exist!” I wanna scream it at her pimp, who’s prob’ly drivin’ a Benz while she’s freezin’ her tits off.

Lured to Germany under false pretences

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Then ya got the little alleys – like Bäckergasse. Ahem, don't get me started: every corner’s a piece of art. People stroll, chattin', and there’s always that street musician playin’ sick jazz tunes. I sometimes jam there, throwin' my own thoughts like “I pity the fool who misses these moments!” I got my jam, ya know, and it fires up my heart for life and all its craziness.

South Butler native overcomes the odds to make Boston Marathon debut at 61