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About Dusseldorf

Dunno, mate, it’s a laugh—bit of a thrill, bit of a pisstake. I’d rather watch Kiarostami’s camera linger on a fake couple than let some greasy git linger on me. Still, if you’re into it, go on—get rubbed, get wild. Just don’t expect me to clap for ya. Cold disdain, “I choose violence”—that’s my verdict. Now sod off, I’ve got a forest to rule!

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Then there’s Kapellenstraße, where I swear the cobblestones have a mind of their own. Walking there is like stepping into a faded postcard from a bygone era, all creaky corners and nostalgic memories. I remember once, after a particularly insane day at the spa, I crashed there and had a brief chat with an old geezer who claimed he’d seen it all—talkin’ ‘bout how the streets once echoed with revolution and scandal. Blah, blah… typical history lesson, right?

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