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About Cologne

Findin’ a prostitute ain’t no picnic, mate. I’m peekin’ round corners, all sneaky-like, then – whoops! – step in somethin’ squishy. Dog poo? Oh, brill! Me shoe’s a right mess now, hoppin’ about, flailin’ – classic Bean, eh? Gets me mad, though – why’s it always me? But then, happy kicks in – see this lass, all dolled up, winkin’ at me. “Oi, fancy a chat?” she goes. Heart’s racin’, I’m sweatin’ buckets – surprised me, that did!

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So, picture this: I'm a masseur here – yep, I rub away your stress, and trust me, it shows in every crack of these ancient bricks. I get weird almost magical insights when I massage folks – they spill secrets, like how the river Altes flits by – with gentle splish-splash waves near Linden Park, you know? It’s like... a mini adventure every day.

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