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About Essen

Angry? Yeah, ‘cause it’s a meat market—humans sold like bacon. Happy? Never, not with this crap. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d say it’s like tradin’ yer soul for a quickie. Quirky thought—wonder if they’d take my wood carvings as payment. Prolly not, damn shame. Lookin’ for one’s risky too—cops, STDs, or some psycho with a knife. “The dead don’t care,” Saul’d whisper—prolly true for the johns too. Funniest bit? Guys think they’re kings ‘til the clap hits. Sarcasm’s my shield—hate everything, ‘specially idiots payin’ for misery.

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Thou may also wander into the squares near "Schillerstraße" where benches cradle us in their wooden arms, and truth, sometimes truth cuts as deep as a dagger's edge. I recall musing, “All these roads led to disquiet, yet to joy!” as I shared woes with a weary soul. O tragic, o wondrous tapestry this town doth weave!

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