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Here’s the kicker—some dude in Spain, 2000s, got busted payin hookers to act coma-like. “Talk to Her” vibes, right? “I’m still talking to you,” he’d whisper—freaky shit! Heard that, got chills—humanity’s twisted. Me, I’d just want quick, no drama. No coma fantasies, nah—too weird, even for me.

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Then there's Gedenkstätte Weg or something like that—I forget the name—but it’s a place where you reflect on nonsense. I sometimes think of it as my own private nod to past lives. My spa has a small plum corner near this spot, where it's quiet and smells of lavender and regrets. Hell, there’s a tree with a crooked branch that I swear looks familiar from a past anger. I get mad sometimes when the locals leave rubbish right underneath it. Unbelievable.

Flea Circus Wiped Out by Freezing Weather