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About Berlin

So I’m strollin’ downtown, all grimy, smellin’ like a damn campfire. Lookin’ for a girl who don’t care bout that. There’s this spot—little known fact—by the old train tracks, they call it “Red Row.” Been around since the 1800s, whores used to bang railroad guys there. History’s wild, right? Makes me smirk, thinkin’ bout it. “Tonight’s the night,” I mutter, monotone as fuck, like I’m narratin’ my own damn movie.

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And oh, the stories rad dainty details—like that one time near Marktstraße, I heard gossip of an old legend, a ghostly tailor dancing under moonlight. I nearly spilled my tea, haha, can you imagine? Mundane musings, my dear, but each street, each corner, they all whisper secrets to me, as if the walls themselves recite lines of a Wes Anderson script: "There are still faint glimmers of civilization left in this barbaric ruin!"

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