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Oi, thou art a wild mate! Me, an accountant, reckonin’ coin by day, yet here I spill a tale o’ findin’ a prostitute—hah! Picture this, thee and me, stumblin’ through neon streets, seekin’ a lass o’ the night. “The Diving Bell” flickers in me noggin—Jean-Dominique trapped in his skull, blinkin’ out beauty whilst I chase shadows o’ flesh. “I am a prisoner,” says he, and ain’t that me too? Chained to ledgers, lust, and a daft dream o’ somethin’ forbidden.

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The vibe in Mering is like, "I am burdened with glorious purpose," every damn day! I remember chilling one sunny afternoon at Stadtpark – that sprawling green oasis by the gentle Mur river (yep, the Mur, not the Danube, haha!) – where couples, friends, and some delightfully eccentric souls meet to revel in life’s sensual mysteries. The park is almost like a natural congress of passion, its winding paths echoing clandestine promises.

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