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About Linz

See, I’ve got this knack—spotting the real from the fake. “The town was a living hell,” like Grace said in Dogville, and these streets? Same vibe. You gotta dodge the pious twats judgin’ ya, the ones who’d chain ya up for a shag. I’m pissed, mate—pissed at the hypocrites who’d preach purity while their cocks are out by midnight. Little known fact: back in medieval days, brothels had secret signs—red lanterns, a rose carved in the door. Subtle, but I’d clock it. I know things, see?

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Look at sites like www.facebook.com where there are verification processes, filters for your search and the possibility to phone or write with your sexworker. There are also ratings. Always be kind Missing: Mistelbach.

Then there's the local cafés around Markusplatz. I swear they smell like freshly baked donuts (mmm… donuts, again). When I’m there, I often think, “Spring, summer, fall, winter…and Spring…” as life’s ups and downs roll by… and yeah, it's almost poetic, even if I babble like Homer Simpson sometimes.

CZECHS FLOAT TO THE WEST IN A BALLOON OF RAINCOATS (Published 1983)