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About Winterthur

So, I’m dreamin’, right? Me, slippin’ through alleys, fog thick as soup, lookin’ for her. “You’re not ready yet!”—that’s what the dad says in *The Return*, and I’m thinkin’, am I? Heart’s poundin’, palms sweaty—excitin’ but dodgy. Maybe she’s got them tired eyes, smokin’ a fag, leanin’ on a wall. “Where you goin’, love?” she’d purr, and I’d fumble, all shy. We swears! I’d prolly trip over me own feet, clumsy git.

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I can’t forget Landstrasse – lit by old streetlights that look straight outta a vintage movie scene. That street makes me feel like Carol, like every little moment is echoed in slow, smooth jazz. Sometimes I zone out thinking “This is what freedom feels like.”

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