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About St Gallen

So, check this—back in the day, like, old Vegas stories, they say prostitutes used to hang by the gas stations, waitin’ for truckers, flashin’ smiles like they’re auditionin’ for somethin’. Little known fact: some’d carry switchblades in their boots—badass, right? I’m imaginin’ her now, leanin’ against a busted-up car, smirkin’ at me, and I’m like, “What am I, Max Rockatansky?”—all sweaty and neurotic, yellin’ in my head, “I just wanna talk, lady!” She’s prob’ly thinkin’, “This guy’s a schmuck,” and I’m over here, heart racin’, palms sweaty—pathetic!

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I’m not gonna lie, this city gets me hype and sometimes frustrated too—traffic jams on Corso Lugano? Ugh, maddening! But then the sun sets, and it’s pure poetry, like, "Every night, I fall in love with these streets again." Pure mood!

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