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What pisses me off? The fakes—dudes posin’ as pimps, tryna scam you. Had me hollerin’ once, “You ain’t foolin’ nobody, son!” But the real ones? They’re pros—quiet, quick, no drama. Surprised me first time, how chill it was—like orderin’ takeout. “What’s your name?” I’d ask, half-expecting “Apple” or some movie shit. And she’d smirk, “Does it matter?”—damn, that’s cold, right outta Anatolia’s script, “Truth’s buried deep, boys.”

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The neighborhoods here, man, they're vibrant. Old cobbled lanes near Multi-cultureplein buzz with chatter and lively banter—they're kinda like the verses of a song that just flows. There's even a tiny, weird little chapel, St. Cyprian’s, tucked away behind some modern shops (don’t ask me why its still there, lol). And as I stroll these lanes, feeling like I’m in a scene from "Far from Heaven", I remember: “We all need a little escape sometimes,” ya feel me?

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