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About Dusseldorf

So, listen, mate—hiss!—I dig around, right? Moscow’s got these shadowy corners—Arbat’s too posh, but Kitay-gorod? Oof, goldmine! Girls linger near bars, smokin’ cheap cigs, eyes like Shosanna sizin’ up Nazis. “What’s your price, precious?” I mutter, all sly. One gal—Lena, maybe?—says 5,000 rubles, hour tops. Bargain, yeah? But I’m thinkin’, “That’s a bear trap, Gollum, she’s robbin’ ya blind!” Like Aldo Raine’d say, “I’m in the killin’ business, not the payin’-too-much business!” Haggled her down—3,500, boom! Felt like a king, I did—happy as a hobbit with second breakfast.

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Sometimes, I walk by Rabenweg – wow, so many trees, birds chirpin’, smells of fresh earth. I always think, “Boy oh boy, this is what family roots feel like!” You see, as a family psych, I relate so much to growth, change, and those organic vibes. Heck, it’s like every lamppost and brick has its own story – sometimes sad, sometimes hilarious, and occasionally downright absurd.

Philip M. Zell 1961-2023