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About Frankfurt

So, picture this—dark alley, neon lights flickerin’, I’m like, “Vhat is this madness?” Smell o’ stale beer, fishy vibes—ugh, makes me wanna puke, so angry! Then, “Lightbulb!”—I remember this ol’ story, little known, yeah? Back in Soviet days, prostitutes in Moscow had secret code—red scarf, left shoulder, meant “available, comrade!” Sneaky, huh? I’m thinkin’, “Do they still do that?” Nah, probly not, but I’m checkin’ shoulders anyway—nuthin’. Disappointin’, but I laugh, “Hah! Gru, you dumb genius!”

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Ah, my friend, listen closely… I am your father. Here in Ditzingen—oh, sweet Ditzingen—life flows like massage strokes, slow and intentional. Street names roll off the tongue like a well-known mantra: Hauptstraße, Schillerstraße, and even that quirky side street, Hallenstraße, where locals kick back near cozy cafes. Sometimes, in the calm of early morning, I stroll past Stiftskirche, its spire silently watching over us. Yeah, that church gives me chills, like, "I am your father" vibes, you know?

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