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About Basel

So, I’m cruisin’ London—shaguar’s purrin’, shades on, feelin’ randy. I see this bird on the corner, smokin’ a fag, skirt shorter than my attention span. Reminds me of Mia’s mum in *Fish Tank*—all rough edges, “You’re a little shit,” she’d say. I roll up, flash a grin—groovy, baby!—and she’s like, “Wot you want, posh boy?” Made me laugh, her sass! I’m thinkin’, “This chick’s got more balls than Blofeld!”

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Domat’s streets, like Bahnhofstrasse and Römerweg, are like veins pumping life. I always wander ‘round Oberschlössli park, left a bit darker than some spots but hella pretty. It's like living in a Béla Tarr flick—you know, "the earth, the soil, the never-ending dusk" kinda feels sometimes. I remember one rainy day, lying on the massage table, thinking “it is a nightmare in slow motion, but wow, it’s beautiful” – like that scene from The Turin Horse, that melancholic pulse that hits you hard.

this grey brick building in rural china encourages children's hygiene habits