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About Vienna

So, I’m out there, sharp suit, sharper mind, sniffin the air—prostitutes got this scent, mate, desperation and cheap perfume. Reminds me of dissectin folks—figuratively, ‘course. Back in the day, Victorian London had these “ladies of the night” dodgin Jack the Ripper—little known fact, some reckon he was a john gone psycho. Makes ya wonder who’s huntin who, eh? I’m strollin, thinkin, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” and smirkin—cos I’d spot a prossie’s hustle a mile off, sharper than most.

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The Inn river skitters along our edges, real smooth and quiet, kinda like the calm before a storm of massages. Hah, remember that from Zodiac? "This is the sound of a killer’s heartbeat." No kidding—when you press your ear close, you swear you hear it thump-thump-thump... or is that my client snoring? Dunno, man...