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About Rumelange

Me, an operator, I see the wires, the connections. She’s hooked up with some lowlife pimp, greasy bastard, prolly skims her cash. Makes me wanna whack somebody, ya know? But then, she’s laughin’, smokin’ a cig, tellin’ johns to fuck off when they get cheap. That’s guts! “Knockout Ned didn’t stand a chance,” but she’s still swingin’, still breathin’. Respect, man, fuckin’ respect.

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After the rain, I decided to hit up the local market. You know, the one by the Place de l’Indépendance? It’s always buzzing with life. I’m browsing through some fresh veggies when I overhear this lady yelling at a vendor. Apparently, he sold her rotten tomatoes. I mean, who does that? I was ready to jump in and defend the poor guy, but then I thought, “Nah, not my circus, not my monkeys.”

Day 6: A drag refuge deep in the Luxembourg countryside