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About Villach

So—where ya start? Back in my day—hell, even now—ya hit the shady corners, right? Neon lights buzzin’, girls leanin’ on poles, smokin’ cheap cigs. Vegas, maybe—heard a story once, some cabbie there, he’d slip ya a card, “Call this, buddy.” Boom—girl at your door, 20 minutes. Little known fact—cabbies were the hookup kings, rakin’ in tips. Made me laugh—capitalism, baby! But it pissed me off too—everybody’s got a hustle, even the damn taxi guy.

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I’ve seen unsightly moments, sure—a few grumpy faces, a rude newcomer or two. But damn it, Hallein has layers, like a delicate massage of history and modern madness. I know a secret spot: an old little trail near St. Rupert’s Church. Only locals go there in whispers, finding calm in chaos. That’s pure, “Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind” magic: messy, tangled yet breathtaking beauty everywhere.

Figure 1. Installation of the new "Terzaghi Filter" at the Hallein...