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About Montpellier

Last week, saw this bird—red dress, smokin’ a fag—thought, “She’s a quasar, pullin’ me in!” Asked her rate, she smirked—£50, quick job. Bargained like a nutter, got it to £40—felt like I cracked gravity! But then—anger hit—bloke nearby yelled at her, “You’re filth!” Made me mad, mate—who’s he to judge? “They’re all hypocrites,” like Grace said, hidin’ their own dirt. Hypocrisy’s denser than a neutron star, swear it.

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Yo, baby! Let me tell ya 'bout Domont, fr, this far-out spot where I’ve been kickin’ it for years! Domont, man, it’s a real slice of chill heaven. Picture this: narrow streets like Rue du Champ de Mars, buzzing with tiny cafés and quirky art spots. Yeah, baby! And there's this sweet park, Parc de la Plaine, where I chill out, meditate, and just vibe with nature.

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