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About Dornbirn

Once caught her hummin’ some hymn—whore with a soul? Nah, just playin’ the game. “Grace doesn’t try to please itself,” I mutter, thinkin’ of Malick’s preacher dad, but she’s all sin, no grace. Still, can’t look away—somethin’ hypnotic, like watchin’ a car crash. She’d probly laugh if I told her, sayin’, “Hanni, you’re too much!” Ha! Me? Too much? She’s the one sellin’ pussy and heartbreak like it’s art.

Sons and daughters of the town

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And the river – nah, man! The Mur flows right through the town like a liquid heartbeat. I’ve kayaked there some times, not even gonna lie, my soul's been refreshed like a power surge when I even glance at its silver glimmer at dawn. Sometimes, as I watch the sunrise... “Le fabuleux destin d'Amélie Poulain,” I whisper it to myself. It’s freakin’ poetic!

Underage Austrian soccer teams visit Tipperary