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About Essen

Anyway, we’re chattin, she’s leanin in my car, smellin like cheap perfume and danger—my kinda cocktail. “Life’s a game,” I mutter, quotin “Ten” again, and she rolls her eyes, “Then you’re losin, mister.” Ha! Burned me good, love a gal with teeth. Makes me wonder—fish don’t judge, why do we? She’s just swimmin her lane, survivin—respect that.

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Man, sorry if I rambled, but that’s Waldmohr for ya. Much love, and may the dark (and light) side guide you. I am your father.

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