I don’t want you getting the impression that the only women we interacted with over there were prostitutes. That wasn’t the case at all. After a week or so of trying and failing to have any sort of meaningful interaction with German girls (solely for Franky’s benefit of course), we started to have a bit more luck.
Our luck started with kabob.
You see, Dionysus, we would stay out to all hours of the night drinking, and we’d inevitably get hungry, except the only spots open that late were kabob stands. They were like the German equivalent of Del Taco, except a little less accommodating to a vegetarian of my convictions. I didn’t touch meat then, mate, which meant that I usually A) sucked it up and went hungry or B) drank more beer because, after all, beer was food, really.
One night we were hanging around one…
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