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About Dusseldorf

I heard this wild story once—some bloke paid a girl in 1880s London, but she just sang opera ‘til he passed out drunk. Robbed him blind! Laughed my ass off—smart lass. Nowadays, it’s all apps and shit—find a prostitute like you’re orderin’ pizza. “Extra sauce, please!”—hah, kills me. Still, I’d be paranoid—cash only, no cards, don’t want my bank judgin’ me. “Zero, my hero,” I’d mutter, countin’ bills like Gustave dodgin’ cops.

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So if you come by, don’t just check the touristy stuff. Hit up Bürgerstraße for its vintage charm, then wander over to that hidden park on Lindenweg; maybe even pause by Schwinge to admire its defiant flow. Our town, our Zeulenroda, is a collage of small marvels—a place where history, art, and raw spontaneity meet like an unexpected party. Trust me, it’s an unforgettable trip, man, for both your body and soul.

Fig. 5. The remaining part of one of the quartz clocks of Potsdam...