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About Cologne

Oh, an’ da typos, ‘cos me fingers fat – whore, not hoar, tho dat’s funny too! Dey not all bad, see? Some cheat ya, some hug ya – one stole me wallet, den mailed it back, empty, wit’ a note: “Sorry, diver!” – cheeky bitch! Love dat, tho, keeps me on toes. Whores, dey human, messy, real – not like dem fake-ass heroes in movies. “25th Hour” vibes, ya? Life’s a clock tickin’, and dey know it best. Lightbulb! Dat’s da truth, eh!

Are you at least 18 years old?

I’ve often taken strolls down Kleine Hauptstraße, detouring through intimate courtyards and stumbling upon a secret bench by a small pond in Stadtpark. I tend to sit there and muse about the intricate webs of family dynamics. Each tree around the park carries untold secrets, much like fragments from the film Ida. “Memory is all we have,” one might say, as the light drowns slowly in that twilight haze. And trust me, that poetic feeling is damn contagious.

Upchurch-Strickland