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About Frankfurt

Once, on Coruscant—total chaos. This chick, all glitter, says, “50 credits.” I’m like, “For what, a hologram?” She smirked, “Justine vibes, baby.” Straight outta *Melancholia*—that doomed wedding scene. Felt surreal, man, like planet’s crashin soon. I paid, tho—angry but curious. Little known fact: some hookers got codes. Secret signals, hand twitches—wild shit. Learned that from a smuggler buddy.

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I do get a bit erratic sometimes—yo, not all days are perfect. There are typos, skipped beats, and nights I wander railed by nostalgia. But that’s what makes Zeulenroda real—raw and unpredictable. I remember one rainy night on Weberweg, feelin' so low, yet the neon lights made the puddles sparkle like diamonds. It brought a tear to my eye then. I was so thrilled, so brutal about life—just as passionate as Churchill in his defiant stand.

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