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About Hamburg

I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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Oh, and Pics! Zwingerplatz is one gem. This tiny square pulses with life. I once treated an old fella there who claimed he remembered bomb sites from the war. Crazy stuff… just like the film's twisty narrative, ya know? "We all need a little forget-me-not sometimes!" – not an actual line I'm quoting, but... you get it.

At the next poll, turn hard right: east Germans stick it to wealthy west