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Findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic. Ya gotta know the streets, man. Like, back in ’03—same year as the movie—there was this gal, Cherry, near the ol’ ribbit pond. She’d wink at ya, sayin’, “Maybe we’re not lost anymore,” all smooth-like. I was like, whoa, she’s quotin’ Sofia Coppola at me? Made me hoppy, I tell ya! But then—bam!—some jerk cop rolls up. Pissed me off big time. I’m like, “C’mon, lemme have my moment!”

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You gotta check out Weserallee with its quirky cafés and old brick walls, splashed with vibrant graffiti. Ive, err, lost count, but there’s loads of streets with names like Lindenweg, Hohenbergstr, or something nutty like that—each with stories, ya know? Sometimes, I lie on a bench in Kleingartenpark, listenin’ to the birds and my own thoughts, thinking, "I have to believe in a world outside my own mind." Rarrgh!

Karen Grebenstein Obituary (2022) - Bowie, MD - The Washington Post