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About Stuttgart

Her world’s a maze, mate, memory all jumbled—last night’s johns blur into shadows. “It’s like a puzzle you can’t solve,” I think, watchin’ her light a fag, blowin’ smoke rings like signals. Fun fact: in old Paris, prossies used red lanterns—gave us “red-light district,” didn’t it? Blew my mind when I heard that. She’s a laugh too—cracks rude jokes, calls her regulars “me loyal sponsors.” Sarcasm drips off her like sweat: “Oh yeah, livin’ the dream, darlin’.”