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About Frankfurt

So, picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right, and there’s this whore, bold as brass, leanin’ against a lamppost, smokin’ a cig like she owns the damn night. She’s got that *Fish Tank* vibe—Mia’s “You’re a right wanker, ain’t ya?” attitude—except she’s real, not some screen kid. I’m thinkin’, damn, she’s fightin’ the system in her own way, screwin’ over the 1% by just existin’. Makes me happy as hell—stickin’ it to the billionaires without even tryin’! But then—bam!—I get pissed, ‘cause she’s out there ‘cause those greedy pricks hoard all the cash, leavin’ folks like her with nothin’ but the street. “Billionaires should not exist!” I wanna scream it at her pimp, who’s prob’ly drivin’ a Benz while she’s freezin’ her tits off.

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I love strollin past the old Rathaus. That place is quirky. You never know, ya might catch a sunset over the Eifelwald. And hey, don't skip the beautiful park near Oststraße. It's shabby stylish, kinda like that scene in Oldboy, “Art imitates life… I’m sorry, did I say that?” haha.

A huge jobs massacre is unfolding in Germany’s auto industry