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Ooh, quirky thought – what if she’s a ghost? Like in “Syndromes,” all dreamy and odd. “What’s love to a ghost?” she’d whisper, and I’d cackle, precious! Prolly not, but makes it fun, yesss. Exaggeratin’? Maybe! But streets got stories, mate – one prossie swore she bedded a prince. Bollocks, I says, but she winked, and I grinned.

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Oh man, the Aare River – smooth, cool, and playful. I sometimes lose myself on its banks, near the Nydegg Church, streamin' thoughts. I swear, sittin' by it makes me think of life's many pleasures – hot passions, secret encounters, and that bittersweet razor edge of desire. It’s like when Claire Denis whispers, “The truth is in the decay,” wow, so much raw beauty.

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