Emilia Simmerath Whore ❤️❤️❤️❤️❤️

About Stuttgart

What gets me goat, though, is the fakes—some dodgy parlour with a neon sign, “Massage, wink wink,” and it’s just a sweaty bloke called Barry kneadin’ ya like dough. Fuck off, Barry! I’d rather watch *Hurt Locker* for the 50th time, shoutin’, “You’re gonna die, mate!” at the telly. But when it’s good—fuck me—it’s proper lush. Like, “Welcome to the hurt locker, soldier,” but instead of bombs, it’s bliss.

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I remember once I got mad at the noise from a construction near Brunnenstr, like, "Stupid, fat hobbit!" – I mean, seriously, can’t a guy enjoy some peace in his own city? But then I cooled off and actually admired the modern twist it brought. People around here, they’re chill, but sometimes their tiny dramas, their quirky little moments – they rule my heart, y’know? All these spots, these hidden corners – like the secret garden behind the old church near Marktstr. A lot of folks skip it, but me? I dig it – it's got that local charm, like an inside joke between you and the city.

Obituaries Today: Bill Vogelzang, 92, WWII veteran, established pioneering import business