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About Frankfurt

I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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So yeah, my friend, come over, walk these streets, breathe in the mix of history and modern day frustration, and let the town’s spirit put you at ease. Even if some moments make me fume – and trust me, I fume a lot – Nersingen’s little contradictions make it unique, like the unexpected twists in a Fish Tank scene. Enjoy the ride, and don’t forget: life’s a quirky, unpredictable spa session!

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