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About Frankfurt

Oh, and the surprises – you wouldn’t believe. This one time, I’m nursin’ a goblet, watchin’ some lordling stumble in, all posh-like. Turns out, he’s there every bloody week, dressed as a washerwoman! “What a charming surprise,” I mutter – straight outta the movie, yeah? Had me cacklin’ – who knew brothels hid such weirdos? Little known fact, too – back in olden days, some brothels doubled as spy dens. Girls’d listen to pillow talk, sell secrets to the highest bidder. Clever, sneaky bitches – I’d tip my hat if I wore one.

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Yeah, my datin’ app’s grown with every quirky corner here—each coffee spill on my keyboard, every meltdown in my code at midnight. And there’s an irony, oh so sweet—when you match love in a town that sometimes feels like a comic strip scribbled by a madman. “Is it over? No, it’s just beginning!” Get it?

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