My name is Lex Brown. At the moment I ramble around in my twenties and call Mannheim my home. I am a caffeine-junkie, a heavy smoker and some people call me fashionably sensitive. I sing in a band called Hot Chick Banged and the rest of my time I spend in cheap bars, ugly clubs or in my freak kitchen. I‘m not comfortable with politics, TV preachers and franchising companies. I am allergic to nuts and as a result have never had the opportunity to eat a nougat cake. I sleep diagonally until I have company, then I sleep lengthwise. My right leg still contains slices of wood and steel as a result of a freak sleigh ride accident. If you ask people about my father they come up with Frank Zappa. I know as much about computers as I know about the disappearance of Jimmy Hoffa and I do my best to keep it that way. I still believe that wearing leather jackets lends me something horrifyingly exotic. My best friend on earth is a pair of leather gloves that are older than me. Recently I traded my bed for an old vinyl-record player. I cannot remember the last time I had dinner before midnight, even though I really enjoy cooking. I still remember the smell of my long time housecat who was carrying dreadlocks as a result of sketchy hygiene.  The street I live in used to be the hub of the cities cherry-light district. That is probably why you can hear the noise of people copulating above and below my room in high fidelity. I do believe that there is not one single lousy paid job in the world I haven‘t done yet, including char in a supermarket, coffeeshop artist and entertainment at childrens birthdays. People tell me I spent one whole day with a hermaphrodite and a pair of leather boots in a public toilet but I can‘t remember. I spend most of my money at a stupid gas station near my house, it seems only a matter of time until they hang my picture next to the employee of the month. In the past 5 months I have seen more broken post boxes, dog shit on the pavement and turkish restaurants than in my forerun life.