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About Innsbruck

Personal quirk: I hate cold hands. If someone’s gonna massage me erotically, their hands better be warm, or I’m out, screamin’, “You’re no better than a Nazi with cold fingers!” Exaggeratin’, sure, but still. It’s the principle! And oils? Slippery as hell. One wrong move, and bam, you’re on the floor, laughin’ your arse off, or cryin’ if you’re me.

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I work as a women’s counselor, so I see the good, the bad, and the ugly daily in Absam (at). You might think a city like this is all serenity, but hell, the local park at Sonnengarten – near the tiny river Flussle – gets mad drama sometimes. It’s where you see people cry, get happy, and occasionally hash it out over a frisbee or something. And oh, I can NEVER forget the old brick building on Lilienweg. It’s got these bizarre, almost theatrical vibes in the alley – reminds me of Dogville’s morality plays. “For a time, for a time…” yeah, that line echoes here every time I pass by.

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