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About Stuttgart

So picture this—I’m walkin’ down some grimy street, right? Neon lights flicker, smells like regret and cheap cologne. I’m neurotic as hell, sweatin’, thinkin’, “Am I really doin’ this?” Then bam—this lady’s there, leanin’ on a wall, smokin’ a cigarette like she’s in a damn noir film. I’m like, “Okay, Larry, don’t screw this up.” I ask, “You, uh, workin’?” She looks at me, smirks—SMIRKS!—and says, “What’s it look like, genius?” I’m furious! The nerve! But also, kinda happy—she’s got sass, I respect that.

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Also, lemme drop some secrets: there’s a tiny mural on Hasenheide Park’s wall you can’t miss. It’s sorta secret and raw, like my first love story online—crazy, honest, yeah? I got my quirks, man. I sometimes wander off, hit that urban jungle vibe. Got my headphones on, rippin’ through beats, thinkin “You don’t talk about it – you just do it.”

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