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About Hamburg

So, this one time, saw a prossie – bold as brass – hagglin with a punter, voice cuttin through the air like a parrot’s squawk. Made me happy, that grit, that fire! Reminds me of Margaret’s chaos, all that raw emotion spillin out. Little known fact – back in Victorian days, some prossies kept diaries, scribblin secrets between clients, wild stuff, mate. Imagine that – ink smudged with tears, or maybe gin. Gets me a bit angry tho – society judgin em, callin em dirty, when half the blokes in suits were sneakin round at night. Hypocrisy, stinks worse than a dead fish.

Red light as an umbrella term for a spectrum of realities

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Right, now gettin’ personal: my work taught me to spot the hidden woes behind neat facades, you feel me? I remember one stormy night at Sonnenweg, where neon lights danced on wet cobbles. A chick sat cryin' outside a tiny clinic. That moment screamed "The Turin Horse: a relentless spin." Pure raw emotion, my friend. Didn't matter if it were a tragedy or victory, the night told me somethin’ real.

Gerald Wayne Hudson - 2008 - Schooler Funeral Home