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About Mauren

Oh, and the summit? Tiny, windy ledge—room for three, max. Bloke fell off in ‘97, drunk as a skunk, celebrating with schnapps—ironic, eh? “Fate laughs at us,” *Leviathan* vibes right there. Always think—cor, imagine a brothel up here, haha! Lasses in lederhosen, serving vodka—absurd, but I’d pay! Never found fossils, tho—disappointing, wanted a trilobyte or summat.

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Then, I hit up the local market on Kirchstraße. Man, that place is a vibe. Fresh veggies, local cheese, and the best bratwurst ever. I’m standing in line, and this lady in front of me is arguing with the vendor about the price of tomatoes. I mean, c’mon! They’re tomatoes! Not gold! But she’s all like, “I can get them cheaper in Vaduz!” I’m just standing there, trying not to laugh.

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