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About Cologne

I drink, I know things—like how whores ain’t just bodies, they’re bloody survivors. “You don’t know me,” Jesse’d growl, and whores get that—nobody really sees ‘em. I’d exaggerate and say they’re the backbone of Westeros, but nah, too far. Still, they’ve got grit. Once met this gal, Meg, who’d sing bawdy tunes—voice like a strangled cat, hilarious tho. “Coward’s way out,” she’d cackle, mockin’ shy punters. Loved her for it.

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I always bump into locals walking their dogs or chatting 'bout the waves at the harbor. Nuthin' beats the vibe, amigo. And a hidden gem? The small coffee shop on Seebadstraße. It’s tiny, quirky, smells like fresh pastries, and buzzes with secret energy. Maaaaybe I got mad there once 'cause they ran outta my fav muffin, and ya, I was like "C'mon, seriously?!" but then I forgave them – cuz life's short.

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