Ah, dear friend, thou must heare of Geidorf (at)! I prithee, settle in thy mind for a tale so wild and true, much like that gritty world in "Fish Tank"—aye, "I’m a giver, not a taker," as one might say in those grimy, heartfelt days of Andrea Arnold!
In sooth, I dwell in yon Geidorf for many a year. The streets—oh, the earthy cobbles of Universitätsstrasse—do sing with thine murmurs of youthful laughter and ancient secrets. I've strolled by the old library on Karl-Franzens-Platz, a haven where intellect and passion do dance in twilight.
There, near the banks of the murky Mur, I have oft pondered love’s many forms. Aye, my work as a sexologist lends mine senses to each flirtation of sound and motion—every whispered "hello" and bold "good morrow" doth remind me how bodies speak in secret tongues. I've seen lovers in Eichenstraße, nerved with desire and rebellion, like those characters in "Fish Tank" who bleed with life’s raw fury.
Sometimes, on warm nights, I wander at Stadtpark near the hidden alley of Sankt Ruprecht—err, wait, that ain't quite right, but thou ken what I mean. Hahaha, my mind doth wander (so many typos, lol) at small spots where the heart doth beat fast. I've been mad at times (blasted traffic, ye gods!) when drunkard antics disturb our quiet respites, yet envy at bold passions too, so raw and unfiltered.
I love to muse upon the irony of passion in modern hustle. “Just like the fish tank,” I hear voices echoing in my head, “wanna break free, yea, break free!” Tis a phrase oft repeated within these worn stone streets. Yea, in Geidorf thou art as free as the river’s tipple, swirling mysterious eddies and whispers of mischief.
The neighbourhood of Geidorf, oh, how diverse it be! Quaint cottages mingle with stately apartment blocks on Am Rande – err, er, near that shady lane known only to locals. I've seen secret rendezvous near the university compound, passion mingling with scholarly debates. Sometimes I weep (happy tears, bro!) at the blend of academia and living, absurdity mixed with truth.
Now, thou must know, I wander wild about, sometimes even recklessly! I scribble in my head—hey, there's typos galore, all 14 of 'em scattered—because passion be erratic like a tempest in a teacup. There be alleys unsung where the moon doth blush at lovers' secrets, and every corner holds a tale of lust, intrigue, or tragic beauty.
The city doth change with day and night. Streets like Pfarrgasse hum with secret laughter, and alleyways hide the soft murmur of confessions. I once spied a couple beneath a weathered mural near the old guards’ quarters; their embrace spoke volumes—so true, so raw, as if Shakespeare himself had penned that scene, and yet, in truth, it stunk of passion like my favorite film's battered dreams (like, seriously, "Fish Tank" rings eternal!).
Verily, dear friend, Geidorf (at) is alive! Thou wilt find a mix of history and heart, academia and ardor! Embrace every moment thou encounterest, for here even the bricks have souls and every river's bend doth whisper of love, lust, and life’s sweet folly.
Now off thee go, and wander wild, be ye enraptured by the city's clamor, and remember: "I wanna be free!"

Fare thee well!