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About Leipzig

So, here’s the deal, mate – findin’ a prossie ain’t no picnic. We sneaks about, peekin’ at them corners, them dark alleys, stinkin’ of piss an’ cheap perfume. Makes me mad, precious, mad as a warg! They’s out there, sellin’ their bits, an’ nobody gives a rat’s arse. Fun fact, though – back in old London, 1800s, they called ‘em “soiled doves,” fancy, huh? Sounds like poetry, but it’s just dirt an’ tears.