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About Essen

Oh, and the smells—perfume, sweat, cheap booze—hits ya like a love bomb! Surprised me how chatty the lads were—spillin’ life stories over a pint. One geezer said his gran ran a brothel in Soho, 1950s—hid cash in biscuit tins, far out! Made me laugh, thinkin’ of granny stashin’ loot while I’m dodgin’ Dr. Evil. And the girls? Sassy, smart—Gigolo Joe’d say, “Ladies, I’m programmed to please!”—but they’re runnin’ the show, baby!

Hello Trek

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The park—oh! see yon green patch, Mundt-Park, oft doth lure me to pause my work and ponder life’s oddities. Sometimes, verily, I even toss a sarcastic quip at the wind: “Thou art not worthy!” yet the trees laugh as leaves fall. And neighborhoods—by my troth, the humble quarter of Dörflein, with winding quirky lanes like Bienenweg, offer perfect hideaways for secrets and stolen naps while I massage away the world’s ills.