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About Dortmund

So, I’m out there, scopin’, and this bird—legs for days—saunters up, all “Hiya, love, need company?” I’m thinkin’, “Bloody hell, she’s bold!”—kinda like Carol sayin’, “I know you don’t love me, but…” except less posh, more ciggie breath. Made me happy, though—straight-up hustle, no faff. But then—fuckin’ hell—some geezer rocks up, all “Oi, that’s my girl!” and I’m like, “Mate, calm your tits, I ain’t stealin’!” Nearly shat meself—angry pimps? No thanks.

Lured to Germany under false pretences

I feel every corner here, every moody secret. It's a patchwork of moments, memories, and quirky little snippets. Lost in time. And I always think: "Stay gold, Ponyboy"—yep, even if things get wild.