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About Innsbruck

Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” I’m thinkin’, what’s the draw? Some dude, lonely as hell, swipes right for company. Reminds me of Benigno in the movie, carin’ for Alicia, silent and still. “The best thing is to talk to her,” he’d say, but these johns? They ain’t talkin’. They’re payin’ for silence, or moans, or whatever. Surprised me, first time I dug into it—how damn organized it is. Brothels in Nevada, legal and all, got schedules tighter than my lab’s. Girls clock in, clock out, like it’s fuckin’ Walmart.

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Sometimes, in a hurry, I speed through the narrow paths—sorry for the typos and skipped thoughts; life here is just a sweaty buzz! There were times that anger boiled inside me, when city traffic clogged the streets by Bahnhofpl, making me mad as heck. Then, a smile would break through like sun after rain, and I’d think, "This madness is gold!" Eh, ya know?

All you need to know about this weekend's Red Bull 400 World Finals in Bischofshofen, Austria.