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About Berlin

Oi mate, blimey, what a topic! Find a prostitute, eh? Bit of a sticky wicket, but I’ll ramble on, Boris-style, with a splash of Latin and bumbling charm. Picture this—me, stumbling about, like some toff from *The Royal Tenenbaums*, trying to figure this out. “Ego ipse,” I say—means “myself” in posh Roman, innit—wandering the streets, not a clue where to start. Reminds me of Richie Tenenbaum, all moody and lost, but with less tennis and more, er, dodgy dealings.

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I've spent eons developing dating apps, and lemme tell ya, people here swipe left and right with passion. They meet in the quirky cafés on Muenchner Strasse – coffee so strong it wakes the dead – and bash it out in the alleys near Allee der Lichter. It cracks me up how folks hide behind their phones, missing life’s magic. I get riled up sometimes, hit-and-miss romance, and I'm freakin' happy when real talk happens in the alleys.