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About Stuttgart

Next spot, I find this girl—short hair, tats, smirkin’ like she knows me. I’m like, “You’re a little shit!”—straight *Margaret* energy, mixin’ it with my YOLO swagger. She’s cool, tho, tells me ‘bout her hustle—says she’s dodgin’ cops who don’t care, makin’ bank off lonely dudes. I’m shook—didn’t expect her to spill tea like that. Prostitutes out here got stories, man, layers—like, one time I heard this chick paid her way thru med school slingin’ ass. Respect the grind, fam.

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I always think back to a rainy night walk on Lindenweg – the rain pitter-pattering, and my mind goin' chaotic, "This is the rhythm of our lives, tragic and whimsical!" I swear, a phrase from that movie echoed: "The silence speaks louder than words," and I felt that in my bones, even if I was just wanderin’ around lookin’ for a good coffee joint at Café Schnapps.

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