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About Munich

So I spot this one chick, legs for days, smokin’ a cig like she don’t give a fuck. I roll up, all cool, but inside I’m sweatin’—what if she’s a cop? What if she robs me? Paranoid as hell, motherfucker! I say, “Hey, what’s good?” She’s all, “Fifty for a quickie.” Fifty?! Man, I got pissed—last week it was forty! Told her, “You’re fuckin’ dreamin’!” She just shrugged, like Mia’s “I don’t care” attitude. That shit made me happy tho—girl’s got guts.

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The river Korbas flows right by the old town, carving out memories and interactions in its waters. You walk along its banks, and every ripple seems to whisper untold stories. I sit there sometimes in my little moments of zen, mulling over life's craziness. I once sat on a bench at the Korbpark near Rabenweg and noticed a couple reconciling. I felt proud, happy, and so unexpectedly grateful for those small, vulnerable moments. It’s like, life’s brutal beauty, man!

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