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About Dornbirn

So, I’m struttin’, seein’ these gals—some bold, some shy. One chick’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a lamppost, like she’s in a noir film. I’m like, “Whoa, she’s got that ‘perfect life’ mask!” Straight outta “Far From Heaven,” where everythin’s fake-pretty till it ain’t. I ask her, “What’s your deal, toots?” She laughs—dry, bitter, says, “50 bucks, no chit-chat.” I’m shocked, man! 50? Inflation’s a bitch! Made me mad—capitalism screwin’ the little guy, or gal, again!

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Sometimes, I get all jumbled in these thoughts, ya' kno? Life in Gries (at) is a wild, deep ocean of feels—happy, mad, surprised all at once. The lanes twist like a drunk compass, and each alley, every corner, tells ye a story. I might even exclaim: "I wish I could remember every damn moment!" as I flit by the laughter of children at Parco dei Ricordi.

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