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About Hamburg

First off, it ain’t like orderin’ pizza. You don’t just yell “delivery!” and bam, there’s a chick at your door. Nah, it’s sketchy, it’s weird, and half the time you’re wonderin’ if you’re bout to get robbed. Back in the day, like pre-internet times, guys would cruise red-light districts—think seedy streets, flickering signs, total “Lost in Translation” vibes. “What am I doing here?” you’d mutter, feelin’ like a ghost in your own damn life. Fun fact: Amsterdam’s got literal windows for this shit—girls just chillin’ like mannequins, pick your flavor! Wild, right?

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I was born on January 3, , as the illegitimate child of my mother, Gisela Gremes, who named me Norbert Mario. She was only 17 years old.

Oh, and gotta mention, these comments might sound erratic ‘n all but it's authentic – ain’t nothing polished 'round here, it’s real raw vibes. The local river, Schwanbach, flows quietly near the old mill, a perfect spot for daily zen sittin'. I get in my head and think, "life's a mystery and the universe is heavy with beauty" – like, deep cut, bro.

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