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About Frankfurt

But then—THEN—I spot her, leanin’ on a lamppost, all sass and red lipstick. “Why is the rum gone?” I mutter, ‘cause I’m parched and she’s trouble. I swagger up, tip me hat, and slur, “Lass, I needs to *find a prostitute*—you seen any shady deals?” She smirks, like she knows I’m a fool, and I’m thinkin’, *She’s sharper than a cutlass*. “What’s in it fer me, Cap’n?” she says, and I’m fumin’—cheeky wench! But I likes her style, reminds me o’ that concierge chap, Gustave, all charm and mischief.

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Oh man, the neighborhoods! For instance, the groovy area around Bahnhofstrasse is alive with energy. Locals gather at the weekend market – smells of fresh bread, the chatter of families – all brimming with raw emotions. But sometimes, oh sometimes, the crowded market gets me so mad; the cacophony makes me want to yell, “Where’s the calm, maaan?!” Pardon my slip, but it’s like life here is a punchy reminder that every soul has its scars – and healing begins on streets like these.

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