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About Biel-Bienne

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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Now lemme spill – I loooove the small park near the Riviere Delle. It's quiet, serene, a hidden oasis behind the city library (librairie's old, but exudes soul). I often sit on a worn-out bench – yep, that’s my chill spot – and think about life, love, and those crazy massage sessions I’ve had. AND DUH – the river sparkles like hope, man!

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