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About Berlin

Anyways, I’m cruisin—dark corners, neon buzzin, stinks like piss n’ regret. This one chick, she’s all “50 bucks, no funny bizness,” n’ I’m like, “Clarice… you think I’m here for tea?” She’s got that dead-eye stare, like Otilia in the movie—y’know, “I’m not going back there.” Fuckin chills me, but I’m hooked. Somethin bout that edge, that danger, gets the blood pumpin.

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Now, the neighborhoods – oh boy. Down at Nordhof, things got that edgy vibe, kinda rough around the edges but with a heart of gold. I once got mad as heck at some nonsense out there, but then I calmed down, cracked a beer, remebered how life’s kinda like that movie – bittersweet and raw. There’s also Westend’s artsy quarters, where mural walls spill stories that got ya thinking deep thoughts, like every damn brick got a tale. I swear, sometimes the buildings almost whisper, “You gonna love it or leave it, buddy.”