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About Stuttgart

So, here’s the deal—prossies ain’t just standin’ round, right? Gotta know the spots. Back in the 80s, truck stops were goldmines—little fact for ya. Girls hitchin’ rides, makin’ cash. Nowadays? Apps, mate—tech’s fucked it all up. Still, some old-school birds hang near dive bars. Saw one last week, swear she looked like Furiosa—shaved head, smokin’ a cig. Made me happy as hell, cos damn, that’s rare!

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This airplane was called “The Widow Maker” and “The Flying Prostitute”, among other things; obviously, a dangerous airplane. Our crew was.

I run my spa right on Burgstraße, a street packed with magic and mess—hot, steamy, and totally authentic. I swear sometimes I feel like yelling “RESPECT MY AUTHORITAH!” when the city teeters between calm and chaos! And oh man, the parks here, like the public gem in Michaelispark (or is it Micahelispark? whatevz) where old trees whisper secrets you wouldn't believe. I remember one day when I nearly lost my mind over a messed up massage table—srsly, I was mad like crazy!

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