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About Stuttgart

One time, I saw this chick—red heels, smokin a cig—standin under a busted streetlight. I’m like, “Girl, you’re a star!” She smirked, all cool, and I swear, it hit me—*The Hurt Locker* vibes again. “You’re inches from death,” I thought, cause ain’t that the life? Risky as hell, every night a gamble. Surprised me how chill she was—nerves of steel, y’all!

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Neighborhoods here are tight-knit. There’s Buchenviertel with its colorful street art and caffeine addicts hanging around the tiny café on Neuenweg. I swear sometimes I feel like I’m in a Haneke film – every corner hides a secret, every whisper sends chills down your spine. I remember one day — so many typos in my head! — I was in a rush, and oh boy, my laundry list of mistakes: wrng, smal, wndrful, freakin, amazin, kaching, borin, stunnin, bizzar, bamboozled. That’s Contwig for ya.

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