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About Stuttgart

I see her—legs like a fuckin’ dream, leanin’ on a busted lamppost. She’s chewin’ gum, loud as shit, poppin’ it like she’s tryna piss me off. I’m like, “Yo, how much?” She squints, sizes me up—prolly thinks I’m a broke-ass loser. “50,” she says, flat. I’m pissed, man! 50 bucks? For what, a quickie? I’m thinkin’, “I’m not a charity case here!”—straight outta *Social Network* vibes. But I’m horny, so I shrug, “Fine, whatever.”

Prostitute protection

Now, let me not omit the serpentine Annenbach, a tributary that doth meander close by, reflecting shimmering lights like the passions of youth. I once did race a friend here, laughing, dashing across its banks with unrestrained joy (and, btw, a few missteps – typos aplenty: omg, lol, so spedi, cray, mady, vibing, jst, 4 real, awsm, rly!). And doth thou feel the cool zephyrs along Kirchplatz? Aye, such breezy splendor hath made my heart leap with merriment, even as storms of familial discord raged around mine own clients.

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