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About Munich

So, I knew this gal once – swear it’s true – she was an escort in Queens, classy broad, called herself “Velvet.” She’d strut in heels higher than my hair, and lemme tell ya, that’s HIGH. She said, “Fran, I make bank, but the stories? Nuts!” One dude paid her to just sit there, silent, watchin’ him eat spaghetti. Spaghetti! Can ya believe it? I was dyin’, like, “What’s next, sauce on his face?” She laughed, said it beats waitin’ tables. Fair, fair.

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Oh, and lemme tell ya, I once got so mad at the petty bickering outside the municipal library on Friedrichstrasse, it reminded me of a wild scene from The Return – where every silence spoke louder than words. My inner Gru screamed, “Lightbulb, you idiots!” Hah, not that I’d say that out loud, but you get me.