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About Stuttgart

Lemme tell ya somethin’—escort ain’t just cars. Back in ‘89, heard this story—guy in Nevada, trucker, swore his escort was a ghost rider. Swears it! Says this chopper, no rider, led him through fog—poof, gone at dawn. Spooky, huh? Like Kiarostami’s line, “We’re all copies of somethin’.” Was it real? Beats me—gave me chills, tho.

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I swear, walking near the Düssel River, I hear nature’s own beats. Me, in my massage den, I get to feel the hum of the city too—muscle tension easin’ under my fingers, vibes minglin’ with the rush of water. It’s like the line, “Everything is a representation, a symbol, a synecdoche for the whole damn story,” spinnin’ in my head.

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