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About Stuttgart

Alright, mate, so I’m a mountain guide, yeah? Out there in the wild, roamin’ peaks, breathin’ crisp air—bloody brilliant. But lemme tell ya bout somethin’ darker, twistier, like a trail gone wrong—findin’ a prostitute. Ain’t talkin’ bout no fancy escort ad, nah, this is raw, gritty, real shit. Picture this: me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” sizin’ up the scene. You don’t just stumble on ‘em, see? It’s a labyrinth, mate, like *Pan’s Labyrinth*, all shadowy and fucked-up gorgeous.

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Now, listen, hobbitses—uh, I mean, friend, there's the river! The little Helfenbach river, always chattering like a gossiping crowd at a drugstore; it winds around the old stone bridge on Kirchgasse. I once sat there, mmm, thinking, laughing, crying... family problems and healing vibes mix into one crazy cocktail, hsss, precious, like a wild, untamed dream from that movie of ours.