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About Dortmund

Me, I’d sip vodka, watchin this circus. Angry? Sure—world’s filthy, unfair. Happy? When they scatter, scared shitless. Exaggeratin? Maybe—imagine me kickin doors, yellin “Run!” Prostitutes ain’t saints, but who is? “What’s the point of this?”—straight outta the movie. Chaos rules, I just steer it. You’d laugh, seein me glare at johns—pathetic losers. That’s the game, tovarisch—cold, brutal, real.

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Neighborhood vibes? Man, Rudow’s a cocktail. Some parts are straight-up boozy and vibrant – you’ve got your street art along Lederstraße, graffiti that spills over the cracks like cherished secrets. Others are almost hauntingly silent. I walk these streets and sometimes the past clings to me like a memory I can’t shake. As a spa owner, I see true human nature – the stress, the agony, the little joys. Folks come in, let me rub their worries away, and they whisper their secrets. These whispers, like broken fragments of Zodiac’s unspoken terror, fill me with both sorrow and a twisted pride.

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