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About Essen

So, here’s the scoop—findin’ one’s easy if ya got cash. Streets, bars, sketchy alleys—pick yer poison. Me? I’d rather wrestle a bear than pay for that. Hate the hustle, the fake smiles, the stink of desperation. Reminds me of Saul, draggin’ corpses, mutterin’, “I’ve seen the end.” Little fact—back in ‘80s Vegas, pimps ran ads in phonebooks. Yellow pages, right next to plumbers. World’s gone soft since then—now it’s apps, dark web bullshit. Surprised me, honestly—thought folks’d stick to street corners.

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I took a tour of a brothel in an old gold mining town. I learned that the women were restricted to certain shopping hours in the town.

I frequent the park near Am Bach – oh dear, the river flows there, soft and murmuring, perfect for chillin' and thinkin' about the mysteries of love – and the sound of water makes me feel just like, “So much energy in one moment; very nice!” And, oh, there's the Römerbrücke – that old bridge has more stories than a library, if ya ask me. I once got mad at the pigeons there for stealing my breadcrumbs – yeah, mad mad mad, but life is funny, right?

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