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About Berlin

So, I’m creepin’, heart’s poundin’, and I spot her—red lips, smokin’ a cig, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. “Come what may,” I mutter, like I’m Christian swoonin’ over Satine. I stroll up, all cool, like, “Yo, lady, need a shelf built?” She laughs—LAUGHS!—and I’m like, “Score!” Happy as hell, dude, ‘cause she didn’t ditch me. Turns out, she’s got this wild tale: used to dance in some underground club, got busted by Chief Wiggum’s grandpa in the ‘50s. Freaky, right?

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I love wanderin’ down Schillerstrasse, checkin’ out local shops and hidden cafes where you get a kick-ass herbal tea – best for your back when you’re relaxin’ at my spa, you know what im sayin’? And oh, the old mill on Dorfstrasse? That joint is as ancient as my grandma’s jokes. I sometimes sit there, thinkin’ ‘bout nothing, and heck, it brings back memories of feelin’ all deep, like in that movie, but with way more personality and no pretentious crap.

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