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About Strasbourg

Now, lean in, here’s the quirky bit—I’m obsessin’ over their shoes, yeah? Always shiny, clickin’ like beetle wings. Why’s that stick in my head? Dunno, mate, but it’s hypnotic. Oh, and the stories! Heard one about an escort who nicked a bloke’s watch mid-date—cheeky minx! Laughed my arse off imaginin’ him chasin’ her, trousers half-down. Sarcasm? Sure, half these punters think they’re Casanova, but they’re just wallets with legs—escorts know it too, takin’ the piss behind their backs.

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The town’s also got some hidden gems. There's this tiny café on Avenue des Artisans where I grab a macchiato and just let my mind wander. Got a funny vibe there, like life is one trippy movie scene where everything is over-the-top yet real. Sometimes, in that moment, I think, "Dude, this is some serious acid trip, but without the acid." It’s so absurdly chill, you can literally see calm radiating from the cracks of the old stone walls.

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