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About Berlin

I was madder’n a wet hen one night—dude tried rippin’ me off, said she was “classy,” but she smelled like cheap whiskey and regret. Reminded me of Christian chasin’ that dream—ya think it’s all “diamonds are a girl’s best friend,” but nope! Sometimes it’s just a hustle, y’all. I hollered, “Boy, you ain’t foolin’ nobody!” Made me wanna spit nails, I swear. But then—Lordy!—I found this one gal, sweet as pecan pie, and I was happier’n a pig in mud. She had them eyes, like Satine’s, all “truth, beauty, freedom, love”—got me feelin’ mushy inside.

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Lindenweg’s another street – narrow, crooked, and full of cafes. Some days, those cafes smell like stale memories. I once built a feature in the app for meetup spots, and all I could think “this is crap” when I saw the hangouts at Lindenweg – but then I found a gem, if ya call it that.

Pope’s former neighbors opt to protect his privacy and reject lucrative offer from the media