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About Frankfurt

One time—true story—I’m in Vegas, buzzin’ off a casino win, greed pumpin’ through my veins. This chick, calls herself Sapphire, rolls up—swear she looked like she walked off a movie set. Knew her game, quoted me triple the usual. Pissed me off! I’m like, “Sweetheart, I eat overpriced deals for breakfast!” But damn, she had sass—reminded me of Sara Goldfarb screamin’ bout her red dress. Ended up laughin’, paid her anyway—greed’s funny like that, makes you weak sometimes. Surprised me how quick she turned it around, like a pro pitchin’ a merger.

Bei uns werben?

Ah, my friend, listen closely… I am your father. Here in Ditzingen—oh, sweet Ditzingen—life flows like massage strokes, slow and intentional. Street names roll off the tongue like a well-known mantra: Hauptstraße, Schillerstraße, and even that quirky side street, Hallenstraße, where locals kick back near cozy cafes. Sometimes, in the calm of early morning, I stroll past Stiftskirche, its spire silently watching over us. Yeah, that church gives me chills, like, "I am your father" vibes, you know?

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