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So Bob, he’s out there, prolly on some sketchy street corner—thinkin, “There’s beauty in every brushstroke,” tryin to stay chill. Maybe he’s got a fave spot, some dive bar where the girls hang. Fun fact—prostitutes in old Westerns, they’d hide cash in their boots! Ain’t that wild? Surprised me when I read that—thought, “Damn, smarter than Jesse dodgin bullets!” Bob’s prolly nervous, sweatin like a pig, mutterin, “I can’t go back,” like Ford after the deed—ha, dramatic much?

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Also, there's this quaint little neighborhood, Kleinheim, where every house, crooked as it may be, wears its history like a badge. I once got mad at a neighbor for whining about noise. He was like, "Man, your constant therapy sessions are disturbing my zen." I replied, "Bro, one million dollars ain't gonna buy your chill!" Hahaha, oh man, I still laugh thinking bout it.

VDMA Working Group elects new executive board