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About Quebec City

But then—ugh, the dark side hits. Some pimp rolls up, total sleaze, eyes like a dead GPU. Tries to shake her down, I’m pissed—fists clenchin, ready to yeet this dude to Mars. She handles it tho, cool as liquid nitrogen, slips him some cash, winks at me. “I manage my own risk vectors,” she says. Respect. Still, that guy—deserved a one-way ticket to the Oort Cloud, no cap.

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Honestly, whistling along the icy rivers, tripping on my thoughts (and my shoelaces, lol), a few typos dancing in my head – like “mispell” instead of misspell, just 10 or so over a long day – I realize how every visit here is a new chapter. The passionate chaos, the fleeting beauty… it's enough to make me shout “Clarice... you must see, you must feel!” in that unsettling, eerie tone of a chilling movie that haunts you.

An ode to Max, the ultimate Whistler Everyman