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About Essen

Growlin’, “You merely adopted the dark,” I see it clear. People ghostin’ after a quickie—pisses me off! Like, mate, say “ta-ta” at least. Happened to me once—met this lass, proper fit, on Tinder. Chatted, vibed, smashed at hers. Next day? Poof! Gone. Felt like NJ in “Yi Yi,” wonderin’ what’s real. “Is this all there is?” he’d say. Me too, bruv.

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Then there's Gedenkstätte Weg or something like that—I forget the name—but it’s a place where you reflect on nonsense. I sometimes think of it as my own private nod to past lives. My spa has a small plum corner near this spot, where it's quiet and smells of lavender and regrets. Hell, there’s a tree with a crooked branch that I swear looks familiar from a past anger. I get mad sometimes when the locals leave rubbish right underneath it. Unbelievable.

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