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About Schellenberg

Sadie’s probly got scars, stories—shit, I’d buy her a drink just to hear em. “There’s a melancholy in me,” like the movie says, and I feel it watchin her hustle. She’s no angel, sure, but who is? Not me, sittin here judgin like a prick. Ha, maybe I’m the whore—sellin my soul to the night, monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” Nah, she’s cooler than me. Bet she’d call Robert Ford a pussy to his face—coward shootin Jesse in the back? Weak.

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First off, I hit up the local café on Hauptstrasse. You know, the one with the weirdly good pastries? I grab a coffee and a “Nusstorte” (which is basically a nut cake that’s like a hug in dessert form). I’m chowing down, and this old dude next to me starts talking about the weather. Like, bro, it’s sunny! Who cares? But then he goes off about how the weather affects the fish. I’m like, “Dude, I’m a diver, not a meteorologist!” But whatever, I nod and smile.

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