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About Sankt Polten

So yeah, prostitutes—dirty, clever, human. Like *Yi Yi* says, “We live, we stumble.” Lysa stumbled plenty—me too, I reckon. I’d toast her with Dornish red, sayin’, “Here’s to knowin’ things, eh?” She’d roll her eyes—fuckin’ perfect. Ain’t no saint, just a prossie—but I’d drink with her any day.

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I love my strolls in the Quaintberg neighborhood. It’s off the haunted trail of tourists but packed with local art and vintage markets. Anyone into the local vibe can totally lose themselves in its mix of scents, sounds, and sometimes random street musicians. Ppl say it’s like a living art installation. I always think— “let’s get down to brass tacks, the truth is there’s beauty even in raw chaos,” like a covert op that unravels deeper meanings on every corner.