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About Geneva

Sick vibe, sometimes, air thick with lust. Glitter hides grime, fancy lights flicker. Owners grin, “Business, it is!” Hmph, slimy they be, coins over souls. Heard tell, one joint – Paris, maybe? – had secret tunnel, coppers dodged! Clever buggers, outsmartin’ law. “You either die hero…” or keep pimpin’. Me, I’d shut ‘em down, saber swingin’. But real, it stays – old as sin. Do or do not, folks still do. Wild world, brothel be, Gotham’s twin!

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Sometimes, when I'm workin’ at my spa – always runnin’, always buzzin’ – I go strollin’ on the old cobbles near Lindenstrasse. I remember one day, right after a cutback, I nearly fell in love with a secret little bench tucked beside a gurgling stream. Bro, it was, like, “Whoa man, this place speaks to your soul!” Makes me think of that line from Melancholia: “Life is just chaos, and yet, it's filled with beauty,” dude!

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