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About Stuttgart

Oh, and her smell – gin, sweat, and somethin’ sweet, like rotting flowers. Stuck with me, Clarice. Made me think – we’re all whores somehow, sellin’ somethin’ to survive. Me with my numbers, her with her body. What’s the diff? Ha! Maybe I’m just a sick bastard, seein’ poetry in the gutter. But Ruby, man… she was a fuckin’ legend. Whore or not, she owned it.

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I do tell thee, my dear, that Hollfeld boasts neighborhoods that cocoon thee in calm. Stroll down Rosenweg and witness local theatre ablaze with passion. I swear, the townsfolk have comical habits: reciting poetry at dusk and gossiping in wild slang, or whatnot. My work has gifted me insights unseen by others. I often overhear secrets in the whispering winds of the little park, Gelassenheitsplatz—words that remind me of "Within every epic lies a humble note"—so true!

Jack Hollifield, Tulane Green Wave, Offensive Line