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About St Gallen

Worst bit? The ghostin’. You’re chattin’, vibin’, then—poof!—gone. “The world is a cruel place,” like Steve McQueen showed us—sex-dating’s no different. Drives me mental! I’d shove their phone where the sun don’t shine, call ‘em a soggy prat. Me quirk? I’d ban ‘em all from me prison—lock ‘em up for bein’ dull as dishwater.

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I be a relaxation specialist, so relaxin’ spots are me gold doubloons. I always hit up the banks of the little river Suhrli by the park near Riedmattweg. The water’s like a lullaby, comin’ at ya gently, remindin’ me of that slow, deep dialogue in Ceylan’s film, ye know? Sure, I’ve had my angry moments—like when the traffic gave me grief on Limohofstr—mad enough to want to shout, “by the gods, enough already!” But then, a funny breeze would tickle me face and—bam!—anger melted away like ice in a Caribbean rum punch.

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