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About Hamburg

So, I’m out there, right? In the field or some shady alley—where do you even *find* a prostitute? I’m not googlin’ this, no way, my browser history’s already a mess! Maybe I’d ask my buddy Leon, he’d know, he’s got that street wisdom. But me? I’m clueless, sweatin’, neurotic as hell, thinkin’, “Am I gonna get robbed? Is she gonna laugh at my shepherd outfit?” I mean, it’s 2025, prostitutes prob’ly got apps now—Sheep-Shtup or somethin’. Hilarious, right? But I’m paranoid! “What if she’s a cop?” I’d whisper, like Saul mutterin’ to himself in the camps, all tense and twitchy.

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Now, gotta mention the river Flussle – small and snaky, but relaxin’ as heck. I sometimes kick back by its banks, watchin’ life drift by. And the local landmark at Marktplatz? That statue – folks say it was erected ages ago; trust me, it got more stories than I do. "Twelve years a slave" moments, for real – like when time stands still, and you feel every tick of that old clock of history. What a vibe, eh?

Living with the legacy of Operation Valkyrie