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About Dusseldorf

Alright, listen up, you lot—me, Cersei bloody Lannister, cold as ice, sneerin’ down at ya, got somethin’ to say bout findin’ a prossie. Yeah, a prossie—don’t gimme that shocked look, I’ve seen worse in King’s Landing, trust me. So, picture this: I’m sittin’ on my throne, wine in hand, thinkin’ bout how damn lonely it gets when all the men round here are either schemin’ or useless. Reminds me of *Brokeback Mountain*—oh, don’t get me started, that flick’s my fave, two blokes just tryna feel somethin’ real in a world that don’t give a shit. “I wish I knew how to quit you,” one says—hah, I feel that in my bones, but me? I ain’t quittin’ nothin’. I choose violence, always.

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You gotta check the back alleys off Poststraße too. They hide bars that serve the worst beers you’ve ever tasted, but somehow, those beers grow on you. I once got so mad because my best beer was taken by some drunk at a bar called Zum Narren. I was livid, but later, it became a funny memory.

Swiss architect’s most famous works