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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.

Practice Areas

Oh, and lesser-known fact: behind the old town hall, there's a hidden courtyard where I once gave an impromptu massage to a quirky artist. Crazy! I was like, "Goodbye to achy muscles, hello to art!" It struck me hard, but in a good way.

Premises of great importance for Doppstadt: 30 years of production in Calbe in Saxony-Anhalt