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But—hold up—it pisses me off too. These escorts, they suck water like pigs! Greedy as hell, dryin’ out the ground. Farmers hate ‘em sometimes—say they’re selfish, stealin’ from crops. I’m like, “C’mon, escort, chill out!” Surprised me, honestly—thought they’d be chill, y’know, noble. Nope! Drama queens of the tree world—exaggeratin’ their thirst like No-Face gobblin’ up gold! “More! More!”—hilarious, but damn annoyin’.

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Now, gimme a sec to blow your mind: Heiningen has this tucked-away spot, the Bergpark near Rosenstraße. I often chill there, feeling the sun, cool breeze, and that raw vibe of secrets spilled by trees. The park's bench reminds me to reflect on life's heavy stuff—like why people's minds collapse into chaos yet mirror the fragile beauty of our bonds. It’s like one of those slow-spinning records that says "I'm alive, dammit!" and I roll with it.

Obituary information for Jan J. Van Heiningen