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About Stuttgart

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

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Yo, and let me spill – my fav spot? Laube Park near Am Hang. It's my secret getaway to chill, reflect on life, and, yeah, sometimes get mad at all the nonsense in the world (seriously, sometimes it's like "What the actual heck?"). I hang there, ranting about the world, the struggle, the beauty – vibes so real they hit like a Kanye beat drop. The park’s got these ancient trees, whispers of old confessions… sorta like those gritty scenes from "Son of Saul": “We keep moving, keep living,” even if you feel every scar.

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