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About Cologne

I’m chattin’ her up—price, rules, whatever. She’s cool, but I’m pissed—hate the hagglin’. “What am I, a fuckin’ flea market?” I think. Still, she’s got sass—calls me “Mr. Fancy Pants.” Cheeky bitch! Makes me grin tho—happy as a pig in shit. Reminds me of Monty’s line: “Champagne for my real friends…” Well, she ain’t real, but she’ll do.

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Heck, the neighbourhoods are all over the shop. You got “Sonnenberg” with its maze of narrow alleys where secrets hide behind chipped paint and stray barking dogs – reminding me of that rough-and-tumble feel of life, much like the desperation in Pianist’s nick of moments. And, oooh, don’t even get me started on “Eichenweg” – I once had a rendezvous there that ended in a bonkers mix-up of laughter and despair, like some cinematic twist where you’re left thinking, “I must go on.”

Firefighters tackle several wildfires in western Germany