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About Leipzig

I reckon it’s a trip—mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!”—seein’ these birds strut about, all glam, hidin’ the grind. Met this one lass, right, swore she escorted a rockstar once. Said he tipped her with a bleedin’ guitar pick! Mad as a bag of ferrets, that. Got me chuffed, though—imagine the stories! But then, there’s the dark bit—pisses me off somethin’ fierce. Some punters treat ‘em like dirt, thinkin’ cash buys soul. “The stone sinks in the lake,” like the movie says—ya can’t escape the weight, can ya?

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Strollin’ down Hauptstraße is like steppin’ back in time. Quaint shops line the street; some with names you can barely pronounce. There’s one tiny café called Café Am Bach that serves the best Strudel around. I swear, one bite and you’re in seventh heaven. I always say, "Not for me, not for you! But for us," like in that movie, y’all!