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About Frankfurt

I knew this one spot, down by Newark, shady as hell. Guy runnin’ it, Fat Sal, he’d say, “Tony, best pussy in Jersey!” Bullshit artist. Place was a dump—sticky floors, roaches racin’ ya to the bed. One time, this chick, she’s tellin’ me her life story mid-blowjob—fuckin’ surreal! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I ain’t your priest!” Had to laugh, though—ballsy move. Reminds me of that *Certified Copy* bit, “We’re all copies of something.” She’s copyin’ some sob story, I’m copyin’ a tough guy. Hilarious fuckin’ mess.

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Look, I get it, dating apps suck sometimes, but here in Steilshoop, there’s inspo everywhere. The streets vibe with romance. Like, in Melancholia, “The depression of beauty is that it lasts.” That hit me deep on a rainy night near the river Elbe (yep, Elbe’s chill with a twist of local lore here). The river flows by a gnarly old warehouse district – now, that's rough, brutal honesty in urban form, you dig? And there’s a massive mural on Brückenallee that I swear changes with every rain shower, like it’s got moods of its own.

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