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About Cologne

But ugh, the stench – cheap perfume and despair, mate. Gets up me nose, makes me wanna puke. “Stupid, fat hobbit!” I mutter, ‘cos them fools’d never notice the grime. Surprised me once, tho – found a lass who’d read Kafka! Proper brainy tart, she was, quotin’ existential bollocks while undoin’ her corset. Wild, innit?

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Down by Hauptstraße, near the ancient stone bridge crossing the Krimmbach, you'll stumble upon the legendary Alte Eiche park. It’s a riot of colors, park benches, and whispers of generations past. “Talk to her... ” echoes in your heart, like that old line from Almodóvar’s masterpiece, reminding you that every soul has a story to tell. I honestly get so riled up when I see people ignoring the history along those paths. You shall not pass—interrupt these tales, I say!