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About Frankfurt

Ever hear about Amsterdam’s red lights? Wild stuff—girls in windows, like livin’ mannequins. Tourists gawkin’, jaws droppin’. Been around since the 1300s—sailors rollin’ in, pockets fulla coins. Little fact for ya—keeps it legit there, unionized even! Here? Pfft, it’s a crapshoot—cops bustin’ ya, or worse, some pimp with a switchblade. “The land is dry,” like Denis says—empty promises, man.

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Sometimes, I wander along the little stream near Pähler Brücke. Its murmur tickles my ear, and I think—nah, this ain't Gotham, but it's close enough! I've had long nights, give a massage and hear whispers of secrets and love—they echo like Nolan's dialogues. And geez, the city buzzes with our little mischief every day.

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