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About Dortmund

I see her—short skirt, eyes sharp, movin like she owns the block. “She’s got a pistol in her purse,” I think, quotin Robert Ford’s sneaky ass. I’m sweatin, heart racin—half excited, half pissed at myself for overthinkin it. What if she robs me? What if she’s a cop? Man, I’m trippin. “You’re too late, mister,” she says, sassy as hell, and I’m like, “Nah, I’m right on time, baby girl.” She laughs—score! That’s my in.

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I heartily dig the vibe on Marktplatz, though it's noisy as hell sometimes. Nah, I ain't lyin' — it can be wild. We got hidden gems too, like that hole-in-wall cafe on Breslauerstr. Seriously, gabagool? Ova here, it's the best coffee in town. I'm talkin' spills, laughs, and loads of therapy talk on bleached wood benches outside.

Possible domestic disturbance turns out to be man arguing with parrot