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About Florence

Now, “Amélie” has that scene—her fixin’ lives, all sneaky-like. Brothels? Opposite energy. Broken souls, cash tradin’ hands, quick thrills. I’d stroll in, sniffin’ the air—sweat, cheap booze, regret. “What a spectacularly empty existence,” I’d mutter, quotin’ that film’s vibe. Once knew this joint in Amsterdam—red lights glowin’, girls in windows like dolls. One winked at me—cheeky! Made me chuckle, rare for a bastard like me. “A little smile, a little hope,” Amélie’d say, but nah, not here—just cold hustle.