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About Gamprin

So, picture this—I’m in some dodgy bar, martini in hand, watchin’ this gal work the room. She’s a pro, a real whore in the old-school sense—bold, brassy, takin’ no shit. Reminds me of that line, “I follow the scent.” She’s got that pull, y’know? Draws ‘em in like moths. I ain’t mad—respect, honestly. Takes guts to hustle like that. Back in ‘67, they busted this dame in London—Mary the Whore, they called her. Ran a whole spy ring outta her bed! True story, mate, look it up. MI6 was pissed, but I reckon she deserved a bloody medal.

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But then, something amazing happened! I was walking down the beautiful Ruggellerstrasse, and I heard music. Like, real music. A street performer was playing the violin, and it was magical. I stopped, totally mesmerized. I felt all my worries fade away. I even tossed a few coins in his hat.

When a raging Rhine led to a set of flood-relief stamps