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So, picture this—dingy lil joint, red lights flickerin’ like a bad dream. Smells like cheap perfume and cheaper regrets. I waltzed in once, curious as a cat with a scalpel. Girls lined up, eyes dead as fish, but smilin’—fake as a politician’s tears. “We’re artists,” one says, puffin’ a cigarette. Artists! Ha! I nearly choked on my own tongue laughin’. Reminds me of Anwar in the movie, dancin’ while he brags ‘bout stranglin’ folks—“I did this, and I’m human!” Same bullshit, different stage.

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Now lemme spill a lil’ secret, eh? I have a fav diner on rue du Centre – the food is bomb even if it sometimes makes ya mad ‘cause it’s too spicy. I always joke, “Reminds me of that crazy storm in the movie!” Haha, funnies! And oh, don’t get me started on that sketchy back alley near rue St-Paul – sometimes I see a cat doing a weird dance – no joke, like a silent Mr. Bean moment of life.

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