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About Stuttgart

So, whore—let’s spill it. Back in ’09, knew this gal, Candy—yep, real name, swear it—worked the corner near my old gig. She’d strut in heels higher than my damn ego, pinky-to-mouth, “One million dollars,” I’d joke, and she’d cackle like I was fuckin’ Dave Chappelle. Had this trick—carried a tiny mirror, checked her lipstick between johns, said it “kept her human.” Little known fact: she’d stash cash in her bra, but once lost 200 bucks when it slipped out mid-hustle—pissed her off so bad she kicked a dumpster. I was like, “Girl, you’re a legend,” and she just flipped me off, hilarious.

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Man, one time I nearly missed a twilight mindfulness sesh 'cause I got stuck chatting with an old geezer on Hauptstrasse – proper, he told me the city hums with memories, like every brick got a tale. I was like, "blimey, that's deep like The Tree of Life, innit?" and it gave me a buzz, proper inspirational.

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