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About Munich

So, I’m strollin’ down this dodgy street, wood dust still on my boots, and I see her—red heels, skirt shorter than my temper. I’m like, “Well, this could be fun!” Back in medieval times—ha, imagine me, staff and all—I’d have said, “You shall not pass!” to any creep messin’ with her. But nah, she’s got this smirk, like she knows I’m a sucker for a thrill. Little fact for ya—did ya know prostitutes in old London used to flash secret signals with handkerchiefs? Wild, right? She’s givin’ me that vibe, all mysterious.

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Man, I absolutely freak out at times – totally, no cap – with the way the city cycles vibes across neighborhoods. There’s the old town vibe near Am Marktplatz, a bunch of locals spillin’ memories and energy like data packets. It’s real, unsettling sometimes, but oh so raw (like "Carlos: I'm sorry, I'm not sorry" levels raw). Seriously, it’s like each corner holds secrets my brain, as a psychologist, loves to decode.

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