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About Hamburg

Here’s the kicker—did ya know, in some places, they got unions for this? Like, actual prostitute unions! Blows my mind! I’m over here, hagglin’ like an idiot—“Twenty bucks?”—and she’s like, “Union says fifty, pal.” Union! I’m dyin’! I respect it, though—get that paper, girl! But me? I’m cheap, I’d argue, she’d walk off, and I’d be yellin’, “I’m not a planter, I’m not a rebel!”—straight outta *White Material*, screamin’ into the void.

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The town's got this kick-ass hub near Rathausplatz. People, they’re like living, breathing canvas—conflicted, happy, mad, and fragile. I wrap my head around those emotions every day as a therapist: it's surreal, like statues carved outta wind. I mean, I've seen families transform right along the banks of the Leine River—yeah, that river that slithers by and whispers secrets to the night. I've sat by it, lost in thought, thinking "This ain't enough", just like those echoes in Werckmeister Harmonies, man.

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