The only creature in Berlin whose judgment I actually care about. He tolerates my music, sits on my sketches, and judging by his look, he thinks your new tattoo ideas are basic too.

Hot thermal water, freezing mountain air, total silence. A rare moment where I actually relax. Don't get used to seeing me like this, back in Kreuzberg on Monday.

Shift is over, the studio is locked. Cold wind, two wheels, and the sun setting over the industrial district. Best way to clear my head after a ten-hour session.

Berlin rooftop, TV tower in the background, night breeze hitting. Put on something nice, but kept the leather jacket because... well, it’s still Berlin after all.

From a midnight sketch in a notepad to a framed piece on a gallery wall. Berlin art scene, you’re fine, but I still prefer ink under the skin over canvas on a wall.

Double shot espresso, no sugar, no polite small talk. If you’re late for your appointment today, I’m charging you for the coffee I had to drink while waiting.

Five hours of straight lines, zero breaks, and complete concentration. People trust me with their skin forever—the least I can do is make it perfect. (And yes, I brought you a juice box so you don't pass out).

Kreuzberg, 10 AM. The stencil is ready, the ink is poured, and I’m out of patience for people who ask "will it hurt?". Yes, it will. Now sit down and hold still.

Messy hair, concrete walls, cold coffee. The only way I know how to start a Tuesday. Don’t ask if I’m tired, this is just my face.

Sunlight, salt water, and zero tattoo machines buzzing for a week. Enjoying it before I start mentally drawing fine-line flash on every blank shoulder I see here.

Dressed up for a total of two hours before remembering why I prefer dark studios over loud bars. Drink your water, don’t lose your phone, and no, I’m not coming back out tonight.