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About Montpellier

So, I’m wonderin—what’s it like for her? Is she happy? Trapped? Surprised me how chill some of em are. Talked to this one gal once—total accident, swear it—near a fire call. She’s leanin on a wall, smokin, says, “Hey, hero, need a date?” I laugh, like, nah, I’m good, lady. But she’s cool, tells me she’s been at it 10 years. TEN YEARS! Can ya believe that? “Fish are friends, not food,” I mutter—thinkin she’s dodgin sharks out here daily. She smirks, like she gets it. Weird moment, man.

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My favorite spot is a hidden gem by the edge of town—a tiny bookstore called Les P’tits Mots, stuffed with vintage prints and even vintage erotica for those curious minds. I can spend hours there tracking stories of uncensored love and scandal. Its vibe makes my brain buzz, like a scene out of Toni Erdmann: "Hey, life’s a jest, so fuck accuracy sometimes!"—simpler words but deep meaning, right?

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