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About Salzburg

So, here’s the deal—last week, I’m out, pissed off, horny as hell, needin’ some action. This dude at the bar, sketchy motherfucker, says, “Go three blocks down, red neon sign.” I’m like, cool, sounds legit, right? WRONG! Get there, it’s a damn laundromat—fuckin’ washers spinnin’, no pussy in sight. I’m yellin’, “Motherfucker, who’s playin’ me?!” People stare, I don’t give a shit. That’s when I learned—never trust a drunk tip, ever.

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Stroll down Hauptplatz. Seriously, it's charming. Quaint cafés, and that giant clock always giving you a suspicious look, like "What are you doing, babe?" Around the corner, off Im Stein, you'll find quirky little bars where confidence and awkward hilarity mix. I swear, I once helped a couple on a blind date there—a total rom-com disaster, just like that line from A Prophet: "I trust no one."