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About Munich

Oh, and the smells—gods, the oils! Lavender, sandalwood, whatever—mixes with skin and it’s a bloody battlefield stench. Reminds me of Tarantino’s flick—“That’s a bingo!”—when it’s good, it’s *good*, ya feel me? But when it’s bad, ugh, I’d rather gut a Nazi with a rusty blade. Personal quirk? I’d demand silence—none of that “relax, m’lady” crap. Shut it, or I’ll carve ya like Aldo Raine carves swastikas.

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Oi, mate, lemme tell ya bout PEttenheim (de) – the dubious gem of southwest Germany that I've been callin’ home for yonks. Man, this city’s a total mixed bag. You got your Marktplatz, right smack in the centre, where people loiter like lost souls lookin’ for a bit o’ purpose. I always get a bit of a kick from watchin' couples sorta drift into deep chats about life, sex, and the universe – like a live re-run of "Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind": "Meet me in Montauk." I swear, one of these lazy afternoons, I heard someone mumble that, and I nearly choked laughing.

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