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About Berlin

Oh, and this one time—Victorian era, right? Whores used coded ads in papers! “French lessons,” my ass—hilarious! Sneaky lil geniuses. Surprised me, legit, didn’t expect that brainpower. But then, boom, society’s all “lock ‘em up!” Again, ugh, so mad! Why’s everyone so scared of ‘em?

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My head, arms, legs were bleeding badly while the mud covered my EMT vest and my clothes smelled like sewage. The doctor spoke good English.

Oh, and lemme add, my daily stroll through the Altes Viertel (Old Quarter) is like an adventure where each alley tells a story—funny, sad, angry, or downright spectacular. Sometimes I get mad at the traffic noise on Bahnhofstrasse, sometimes I laugh at the little art installations scattered here and there. I swear, every street corner's like a mini-movie scene with its own intensity, much like that relentless energy Bigelow cranked out in "The Hurt Locker". "This ain't just any day's work!" echoes in my head every time things get wild.

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