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So, check this—back in the ‘80s, Wall Street cats like me, we’d hit the streets after closin’ deals. Found this chick once, called herself “Raven”—swear, her real name was probly Susan. Worked outta this shady joint near Times Square. Little known fact—prostitutes there had a code, man! Two knocks on the door meant cops were sniffin’ around. Saved my ass once—greed got me there, caution got me out. Made me laugh, thinkin’ how she winked, sayin’, “Cash upfront, hotshot.” Classic!

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Yo, check this: there's less-known spot, Alte Mühle, by the edge of the park. That place is my secret think tank—loud birds, rustlin' leaves, and echoes of ancient grind. I’d sit there, scrollin’ through dates, thinkin', “Sometimes, life hits you like a truck, but then—BOOM!—you rise like a phoenix.” It's like a Tyler, the Creator moment, wild and surreal.

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