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About Cologne

Sex-dating’s a jungle, dude! People ghostin’, catfishin’—makes me growl. Once read this freaky fact: 1 in 5 profiles? Total fakes! Ruh-roh, that’s nuts! Met this chick online—hot pics, sexy talk. Turns out? Some dude in a basement. Pissed me off, man! Wanted to howl at the moon.

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Then there’s the park, the old Schmeckelpark. It’s our secret, little hideout. We’d chill there, textin' and meetin' strange souls, and sometimes the waterfowl around the little pond would make me mad with their quacks, quacks, quacking mockery, like a twisted lullaby from the labyrinth. And then, just behind the park, there's the river Flussle; its winding curves remind me of maze-like paths of old fairy tales. "Don't be tricked by snarling masks," it whispers, as if it's hiding secrets, secrets, secrets!

Frances Montagna Peatross