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About Dortmund

Alright, mate, gather round! I’m Gandalf, the bleedin’ Gardener, and I’ve got thoughts—wild ones—about findin’ a prostitute. Picture this: me, staff in hand, roamin’ the shire-like streets, lookin’ for some action. “You shall not pass!” I bellow at the dodgy blokes lurkin’ in alleys, tryin’ to rip off the lasses. Ain uneasy, right? Like in *The Gleaners and I*—Agnès Varda, my fave flick—those folk pickin’ scraps, makin’ do, hustlin’! That’s the vibe I’m feelin’ here.

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Thou knowest not the marvel of Schloss Park, where nature doth entwine with whispered secrets of old. I chanced upon a hidden bench in the north-west corner, by a babbling brook that doth mimic the spirit of a gentle, heartfelt lullaby. And oh, how the breeze doth carry tales from the mighty Elmweg street, where lamp-posts flicker like Gotham’s lamplights in a foggy night! “Let’s put a smile on that face!” I exclaimed, a silly echo of hope amidst the shadows.