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About Berlin

What’d shock me most? How normal it’d feel. Like, she’s just chattin’ about her day—traffic sucked, rent’s due. I’d be noddin’, thinkin’, “This ain’t so bad.” Maybe I’d tip extra—cashier life’s tough, I get it. But if she tried rippin’ me off? Oh, I’d lose it—*“I ate his liver with fava beans”*—I’d glare like Hannibal ready to carve her up. Kidding, sorta. Probs just storm out, call her a twat.

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Down on Feldstraße, you run into quaint little cafes. The aroma hits ya, like a warm hug. I sometimes stroll on Hauptallee. So chill, ya know? There's a tiny bakery, oh man, best bread in Lensahn! We swears!

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