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About Namur

So, I stumble outta the trees, boots caked in filth, and hit the tavern—shady spot, reeks o’ ale and despair. There she be, a wench with eyes like stolen stars, leanin’ on the bar. “Thou art a thief,” I mutter, “stealin’ me breath like Cobb nabbin’ secrets!” She smirks—ooh, that got me riled! Cheeky tart, playin’ me like a fiddle. I’m half-angry, half-buzzin’, ‘cos she’s a riddle wrapped in silk.

I be rushin’ sometimes. Typin’ mad quick n’ schizo. But trust, this place got heart. Its nooks, crannies, every flimsy brick is a piece of art. "Each moment bursts like a secret dream." Crazy, innit?

Job jitters: Why do some worry about jobs when the S’pore labour market is strong?