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About Cologne

So, I’m chattin’ her up, right? She’s tellin’ me ‘bout this john who stiffed her—haha, “stiffed,” get it? Total loser move. Said he drove a beat-up Chevy, smelled like cheese. Cheese! Who does that? Made me happy tho—she cracked up, forgot her shitty night for a sec. Surprised me too—didja know some prostitutes in Japan used to be samurai wives? Wild, right? History’s nuts. Anyway, I’m like, “Stay cool, lady,” and bounced. “The future is ours!”—movie line stuck in my head. Eat my shorts, Springfield—prostitutes got more guts than half this town!

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I call my home and brothel is out of this world! I've never felt this connected to someone before. French Kissing and Prostate Massage never fail to impress me.

I’ll throw in my personal fave spot: a barely-there cafe on Lindenstraße. It’s run by a couple of cool cats who insist on quoting Zodiac lines. They’d laugh and spit out, “Don't you get it? This city’s a mystery wrapped in human error!” Funny, right? They serve coffee strong enough to jolt you awake mid-night, which is perfect when debugging dating app codes that act like puzzles from another realm.

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