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About Vienna

Then there’s the vibe, man. She’s smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a wall—like a vampire waitin’ for prey. Straight outta that movie, “I must be gone,” I mutter, half-jokin’. She didn’t get it—too young, prob’ly. Made me happy, tho—felt clever as hell. But the stench? Goddamn, that alley—rotten trash and broken dreams. Nearly puked, ruined the mood. Why’s it always gotta be so nasty? Angry rant in my head: *Clean your damn spot, lady!*

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Now, lemme tell ye, I've wandered all round these parts. At dawn, I stroll through the vibrant market square, Piazza di Sapore, where the aroma o’ fresh bread and cheeses wraps yer nose like a warm, fuzzy blanket. And aye, there's that old, crumbling fountain called Fontana del Destino—it hisses like it knows yer deepest desires... or so I reckon.

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