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About Yaounde

Real talk, tho—prostitutes got stories, right? Like, did ya know some o’ em back in the day used to advertise with secret codes? Like, in old London, they’d wear red shoes or somethin’ sneaky—nuts, right? Makes me mad thinkin’ how folks judge em, tho! They’re out there hustlin’, survivin’, and I’m like, “Good fer you, pals!” Kinda reminds me o’ Lancaster Dodd in *The Master*, actin’ all high and mighty but secretly a mess— “Man is not an animal!” he’d say, but mate, we all got our wild side!

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My fav spot? There's a tiny alley called Whimsy Way. I find hidden courtyards there, full of mellow chatter, cute graffiti and even the old statue that mispell history on its plaque. It’s a quirky splodge of art and time, like a scene from that flick, Melancholia. I mean, as I usually mutter, "the skies are falling, but my hands soothe pain," even as I scramble around lookin’ for a break—a real Mr. Bean moment, yarr!

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