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Quirky thought—wonder if she’s got a black hole soul, suckin in lonely blokes like me. Cosmic, innit? Typin this fast, fingers shakin—prolly fucked up ten words already. Oi, “chance is a gift,” Amélie whispers in my head. Paid her, rolled off—felt alive, mate. Findin a prostitute? Weird, messy, brill. Chat later—universe calls!

Geschichte

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Hey, listen, so—Burg-Unter-Falkenstein, right? It's... it's something else. Picture this: narrow lanes like "Lindenweg" and "Sonnenallee" twist 'round ancient stone buildings. There’s a park, almost secret—called "Herzensruh"—where I sometimes catch a breather after a long day at the parlor. And—oh boy—there’s a quirky little river, the Falkenbach, that winds near the old castle ruins. I swear, that architecture, its vibe, is like a Wes Anderson set. “I’m a natural born lover…”—you know, scenes from Moonrise Kingdom, bout a kid’s whimsical adventure.