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About Dusseldorf

So, I knew this one chick—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not? Worked downtown, real pro, had this wild story. She told me once—swear to God—some dude paid her in rare coins. Coins! Like, who does that? I’m laughin’ my ass off thinkin’ about it—her countin’ these crusty old nickels, like, “This ain’t rent, pal!” Made me happy, y’know? Little quirks like that—shows they’re human, not just some stereotype. But then I get mad—oh, I get mad!—‘cause people treat ‘em like dirt. Like, “Oh, you’re a hooker, you’re trash!” Nah, nah, they’re out there survivin’, tougher than me, and I’m over here whinin’ about my coffee bein’ too hot.

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Now, listen up! The Oker river, which flows with mystic urgency, cuts through the town. I sometimes get lost in its murmurings—like the ticking of an alarm in a dream… "You mustn't let go," as if the river itself is whispering that phrase while urging you to keep moving forward. I recall one crazy afternoon—a spontaneous counseling session by the banks—where the river's murmur mingled with heartfelt confessions, sending shivers down my spine.

KILDARE: German twinning town in Newbridge for St Patrick's Weekend