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About Stuttgart

I’m picturin’ it now—some shady corner, neon lights flickerin’. Kinda like *In the Mood for Love*, ya know? That slow-burn tension, “the past is a dream,” all moody and steamy. But instead of Maggie Cheung in a cheongsam, it’s some chick in fishnets, smokin’ a cig. “A glimpse of her silhouette”—ha! More like a glare from her pimp, struttin’ like he owns the beach. Made me mad, that sleazy control shit. Who does he think he is?

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I often get mad at the noise on Marktstrasse, where rush and clutter drive the wise old souls to despair; oh, how the petty squabbles remind me of endless cycles, repeating like broken records—yess, precious, relentless and maddening! But then, a smile chases the angry clouds, and I remember that sometimes all you need is a smile and a spliff of hope, like those wild, burning nights in Spring Breakers, crazy and fierce, my dear precious...