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About Frankfurt

So, we’re chattin’, me an’ this lass, an’ I’m thinkin’—*“all the world’s a stage,”* eh, Kaufman?—’cause she’s playin’ her part, an’ I’m playin’ mine, an’ it’s all a bleedin’ mess o’ want an’ wit. Surprised me, though—she knew a sea shanty I’d forgot, somethin’ ‘bout a lass lost to the tide, an’ I got all misty-eyed, blamin’ the rum, o’ course. “Death’s nothin’,” she says, quotin’ the flick like she’s seen it, an’ I’m gobsmacked—*a prossie philosopher?* That’s rarer than a sober pirate!

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Now listen, as a massage parlor owner here, I see things others miss. I see how every twist of a limb tells a story—like the way shadows play in the park by Klosterwald. And the little lake near Bromberg Platz? Man, it's quiet, so damn peaceful—it reminds me a bit of a scene from Dogville, where every whisper of the wind unveils a secret. "We are all almost the same," as they said in that flick.

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