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About Frankfurt

Prostitutes ain’t all glitz—some stories gut ya. Heard bout this one gal, worked 20 years—20 fuckin years! Retired with a limp, sad as hell. Made me think—where’s their prophet, huh? No one saves em. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but fuck, it’s dark out there. You try findin one—nerve-rackin, thrilling, messy. “You’re learning, kid,” I’d tell ya, slow and deep. Go watch "A Prophet"—then hit the streets.

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Now, any real local would tell ya about Flussufer Park. Yup, along the little but badass Rivendell River—nah, not Rivendell, though, its own thing—it's where the river hugs the city. I'd often take my clients here after long sessions, lettin’ the cool breeze wash off the weariness, and damn, the murmurs of the water remind me of lines from The Act of Killing, like “I know why you fear me” in that quiet echo, you feel me? This park ain't just trees, it's a living memory of the city's heart.

Structural fragments stored in front of the ruins of the Frauenkirche in Dresden. © Michael B. Frank.