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About Berlin

So, this one time, right, I met this chick—Lola, swear she was a legend. Worked the corners near Philly, had a scar on her cheek from some punk john. Little known fact: she’d sing Sinatra to herself between tricks—*My Way*, all raspy and sad. “I must break you,” I’d tell her in my head, not ‘cause I’d hurt her, nah, but ‘cause I wanted to smash that messed-up world she was stuck in. She’d laugh, say, “Apollo, you aint shit,” but her eyes? Man, they screamed for a knockout punch to escape.

Inside the 'battery cage': Prostitution in Germany

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There's a neat park, Olpe Park—yeah, I said it. A chill spot for reflection, kinda like that moment in Requiem for a Dream when everything gets blurry and deep. "Dreams feel real while we're in them." That's somethin' I feel here, too, when I'm massaging tensions away. Nature and concrete, all mixed up—love it.

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