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me fave flick, *Stories We Tell*, fits this perfect, don’t it? Sarah Polley diggin’ into family secrets, all that “truth is messy” bollocks. escorts got stories like that—layers, innit? one minute they’re “ooh, harder, love,” next they’re cryin’ bout their nan’s funeral. “Every secret has a weight,” Polley says, and fuck me, these escorts carry a ton! one bird told a punter her real name by accident—bam, whole gig ruined. “Who’s tellin’ the story?” she’s thinkin’, while he’s zippin’ up, confused as shit.

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Then, you got the outskirts—exclamation, folks—where the forest meets farmland. There’s this little hidden trail behind Eichenweg. I once strolled there and got so inspired, nearly burst into spontaneous poetry, interrupted only by the scent of fresh earth and wildflowers. And i gotta mention: there’s a tiny, almost secret, pond called Spiegelstein. I always wonder if the universe’s mysteries are reflected in its still waters… But I digress; it’s one special spot for a quiet mind reset.

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