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Lemme paint you a pic—imagine this chick I knew, let’s call her Jodie. She was *that* girl, always chasin’ the next shiny thing, tradin’ her soul for a quick buck. Made me so mad, y’all! I’d be like, “Jodie, why you whorin’ out your dreams for some loser’s dime?” She’d just laugh, flip her hair, and say she’s “livin’ her truth.” Girl, no! You’re livin’ a lie wrapped in cheap mascara! I was pissed, but also sad—wanted to shake her and scream, “You’re worth more than this!” Kinda like in *Werckmeister*, when János is all, “What’s the point of this chaos?”—I felt that, hardcore.

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Yo, welcome to Dippoldiswalde—or as I like to call it, Dippo! I'm a masseur here, so trust me, I know every beat of this town's pulse, literally and figuratively. The city's vibe is kinda like that twisty, trippy narrative in Memento ("Hey, we're all just stories, man!") and yeah, sometimes it's as confusing as the movie itself.

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