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About Curitiba

Lemme tell ya, I scoped some corners once, back in ’89. Chicago, cold as hell, steam risin’ from grates. This chick, “Candy”—real name prolly Susan—rockin’ fishnets, shiverin’. I’m like, “Girl, you freezin’ for what?” She laughs, says, “Gotta eat, big man.” Pissed me off—system’s trash, leavin’ folks desperate. But she had grit, ya know? Reminded me of Irene in the movie, holdin’ her own. “A guy can change anything—his face, his home…”—but Candy? She wasn’t changin’ shit, just playin’ the game.

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Picui ain't your average sleepy town. Nah, it's a mix of narrow alleys and wide-open spaces where every cobblestone tells a tale. I spend my days racing down Rua do Sol, past that ancient, crumbling cathedral—yeah, the very one that folks whisper about in hushed tones—and into the heart of the market district. The scent of roasting coffee and grilled cheese fills the air, and sometimes, you just wanna laugh at how mediocrity dresses itself in everyday glory.

Figure 2-Partial karyotype showing the largest autosomal pairs and ZW...