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About Frankfurt

So, I’m hoverin’, yeah? Debatin’—risk it or leg it? She’s pushin’, “Come on, big boy, time’s tickin’!” Fuckin’ pressure, hate that! Reminds me o’ Lenny, lost in ‘is own head—am I lost too? My precious! Suddenly, this geezer rocks up—her pimp, maybe? Dodgy fucker, gold tooth, stinkin’ o’ gin. “What’s this then?” he snaps. I’m out—fuck that noise! “I don’t remembr you,” I snarl, Memento-style, and scarper quick. No prossie worth a beatin’, eh?

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Ditzingen ain't just streets and bricks; it's a vibe. I mean, even as a masseur, I feel every pulse of life. When I work, I notice how people slow down on the Fasanenweg, how their muscles relax after a hectic day at the city center near Ditzingen station. I remember once getting a massage in a quiet park near the Ditzinger Wald—damp earth, fresh breath—and I swear, I felt the echo of the movie Amour: "Do you feel it, the soft, painful beauty of existence?" Nah, I don’t cry so much unless the day gets heavy.

VDMA Working Group elects new executive board