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Was prowlin’ the streets once—smelled like cheap beer, ugh! Saw this gal, all glittery, leanin’ on a lamppost. “You’re too late, baby,” she purrs—straight outta Crowe’s script! Made me laugh, yesss, but pissed me off too—too late? Me?! Fumin’, I was. Hustled past, thinkin’, “What’s her deal?” Turns out, she’s a legend—worked Vegas in the ‘90s, dodged cops like a pro. Little fact for ya—most don’t know that hustle!

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I often stroll over to the little-known corner near Lindenstraße. That’s my secret spot, you know, where the trees, they sway like in a dream, my precious! There’s a faded bench, old as time, and sometimes I spill secrets to the wind. Ain’t that funny?

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