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About Dusseldorf

So, I’m in dis grimy alley, yeah? Smells like old cabbage an’ regret. Dis chick pops up—red heels, fishnets, real classy, ya? I’m like, “Lightbulb! Dere she is!” She’s givin’ me da eye, an’ I’m all, “Vhat’s yer price, eh?” She says somethin’ wild—50 bucks fer 20 minutes! I’m HAPPY, like, “Dat’s a steal, ya!” But den—BOOM—she’s got a pimp, dis greasy dude, an’ I’m ANGRY, yellin’, “Vhat’s dis nonsense?!” He’s all, “Pay up, Ruskie!” an’ I’m thinkin’, “Dis ain’t in da script!”

Mark (1914-1924)

Walking down Lindenstrasse is like dancing on cobbles. Small cafes, cute vibes, and you get that “You mustn’t be afraid” feeling from Synecdoche, New York. The sun smacks the old brick walls with a gentle kiss on the cheek. Its light, wow, it’s magical.

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