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About Cologne

So, this one time, right, I met this chick—Lola, swear she was a legend. Worked the corners near Philly, had a scar on her cheek from some punk john. Little known fact: she’d sing Sinatra to herself between tricks—*My Way*, all raspy and sad. “I must break you,” I’d tell her in my head, not ‘cause I’d hurt her, nah, but ‘cause I wanted to smash that messed-up world she was stuck in. She’d laugh, say, “Apollo, you aint shit,” but her eyes? Man, they screamed for a knockout punch to escape.

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Strolling by the Lichtenberg Bridge makes me feel surreal. I sometimes halts mid-walk, thinkin’, “damn, didn’t expect beauty from concrete jungles.” And my massage parlor's right on the corner of Sonnenallee—overheard some wild street tales, man. Every client spins a new story. I get mad sometimes 'cause folks never appreciate the soul of a city, but I always laugh it off – life’s chaotic, bruv.

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