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About Leipzig

But here’s the kicker—she’s got this limp, right? X-ray shows an old break, healed crooked. Someone kicked her, I reckon. Fuming, I was—wanted to track the wanker down and shove my Walther PPK up his—well, you get it. “Truth is a cruel mistress,” Ida’d say, and damn, she’s right. Prossie’s a trooper, though—hops around, still flirts with me for treats. Surprised me, that grit. Exaggeratin’ a bit, maybe, but she’s my bloody hero.

And you know what? Sometimes during a massage, clients nod like they understand the soul of this city. I’m there smack in the middle of the hustle, feelin’ each vibration – it's like my hands are tellin’ stories, small yarns of chaos and calm. I love it, makes me feel like Batman but without the cape and the batmobile, haha!