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Now, picture this—me, Donald Trump, chattin’ up a whore, right? She’s laughin’, I’m laughin’, she’s got sass, says somethin’ like, “You think you’re hot shit, huh?” I’m like, “Baby, I *am* hot shit, the hottest!” Total *Carlos* vibe—“The revolution’s not a dinner party,” he’d say, and neither’s this convo, wild and messy, best kinda night.

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The park near Lindenweg? Total chill zone. Kids play, seniors chat on benches, and hey, sometimes I even catch myself reminiscing ‘bout days gone by. The Leine river glistens right there. It’s like, “I’m sorry, I’m not the most attractive person in the room,” but the river is the most honest thing around. Makes me feel like, you know, in “Her” when the AI asks those deep questions. I've been pondering the city’s soul – a bit like Theodore – being both tender and rough-edged.

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