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About Dusseldorf

So, how’s it work? You cruise, you spot ‘em—heels high, skirt short, eyes sharp. Or ya text some shady number from a burner phone. “No calls after midnight,” one told me—pissed me off again. I’m like, “What, you got a curfew?” Sarcasm’s my shield, man. But when it clicks? Oh, it’s gold. Hooked up once, chick was a riot—laughed at my tie, called it “grandpa style.” I was dyin’—humor in the hustle, who knew?

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But damn, some places are a pain. One time, on Bahnhofstraße, a noisy repair work messed up my zen. Got mad, really mad! I mean, seriously, how can you ruin a perfect moment? Then again, spontaneity is life, right?

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