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About Graz

I saunter over, cool as you like—gotta keep it smooth, right? “Evening, love,” I say, flashin’ that 007 grin. She’s all sass, “What’s yer poison, handsome?” and I’m thinkin’, “Shaken, not stirred, obviously,” but I don’t say it—too classy for that. Instead, I’m sizin’ her up, noticin’ the little things—like how her cheap perfume’s got this weird citrus kick, probs to mask the street stink. Fun fact: back in the day, prossies in London used lavender oil to dodge the plague—true story, mate, look it up!

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And oh, the river Zwerg flows past, twistin’ like a snake through neighborhoods. I often take a break by the riverbank near Bahnhofstr. There’s a worn-out, graffiti-tagged bridge, locals call it the “Bridge of Echoes.” Legend says when you yell, “I am your father!” – well, not exactly, but it’s mad fun listenin’ to the echoes, you know?

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