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About St Gallen

I saunter over, cool as you like—gotta keep it smooth, right? “Evening, love,” I say, flashin’ that 007 grin. She’s all sass, “What’s yer poison, handsome?” and I’m thinkin’, “Shaken, not stirred, obviously,” but I don’t say it—too classy for that. Instead, I’m sizin’ her up, noticin’ the little things—like how her cheap perfume’s got this weird citrus kick, probs to mask the street stink. Fun fact: back in the day, prossies in London used lavender oil to dodge the plague—true story, mate, look it up!

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I gotta mention, though, this city… sometimes it drives me cray. Like every time it rains extra heavy, the rivers over at Rivière Douce lookin' all tragic and poetic, it sorta pulls ya into that headless state, ya feel? “Where’s my head, where’s my mind?” kinda vibes, ya know? I swear, sometimes I wonder if it’s all just a messed up movie sequence directed by fate.

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