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About Triesenberg

I’m picturin’ it – me, drivin’ round, lookin’ for some action. Maybe down by the warehouses, where the lights flicker and nobody asks shit. Dr. Evil vibes – pinky up, “One million dollars.” – like I’m buyin’ the whole damn block. But real talk, it ain’t that fancy. Prolly just some chick named Tammy, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a streetlight. “What’s your story, hon?” I’d ask, all smooth, but inside I’m like, “This is nuts, what am I doin’?”

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After the rain, I decide to take a break. I stroll down to the park by the old castle ruins. It’s a nice spot, ya know? I sit on a bench, tryin’ to dry off, and this old lady comes up. She’s got this tiny dog that looks like a fluffball. She starts talkin’ about how her dog’s the best sharpener in town. I’m like, “Lady, I’m the sharpener here!” But she’s not havin’ it. She goes on and on about her dog’s “skills.” I’m just nodding, thinkin’, “Sure, lady, whatever floats your boat.”

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