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About Leipzig

Me quirks? I talk to meself, aye—“Jack, ye daft sod, pick the pretty one!” Makes me chuckle, ‘specially when they overhear. Once found a gal who sang sea shanties—voice like a siren, had me swoonin’! Happy as a clam, I was—rare fer a prossie to charm ye proper. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but I’d swear she hexed me boots to dance!

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Now, I gotta mention Klein-Kalle, that quirky little neighbourhood where locals run vintage markets on Saturdays. It's a maze of narrow lanes—Jahnstr, Müllerweg—where you can get lost for hours, and then find yourself at a pub that feels like an episode of Amélie (“Les temps sont fous, non?”—something that rings true on a wild night out, I swear).

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