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I seen one, yo, back in ’98, shady spot offa Bourbon Street. Smelled like cheap perfume and regret, walls creakin’ like my old fiddle case. This chick, Ruby, ran it – tough as nails, red hair wilder than a banshee. She told me, “Apollo, men pay for silence, not just tail.” Blew my mind, man! Ain’t just sex, it’s escapin’ – like hidin’ from that creepy-ass Pale Man. Little known fact? Them old-school brothels had secret tunnels – smugglin’ booze, dodgin’ cops, wild shit! Makes ya wonder who’s really pullin’ strings, ya dig?

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But then, I spot this amazing cheese stall. I’m talking about the good stuff, folks. I grab a piece of that creamy Brie, and it’s like heaven in my mouth. I’m standing there, cheese in one hand, and I see this old man sitting on a bench nearby. He’s just staring at me, like I’m some kind of cheese goddess. I couldn’t help but laugh.

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