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About Mons

We swears! Findin a prostitute, eh? Tricky biz, like huntin shadows in *Tropical Malady*. Streets hummin with weird vibes, man. Me, I’m creepin round, eyes peeled, thinkin—where’s she at? “The scent fades into darkness,” like that flick says. Makes me twitchy, y’know? All them city lights flashin, confusin as hell. Once saw this gal, fishnet tights, leanin on a pole—thought she was it! Nope, just a poser. Pissed me off, waste o’ time.

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And yo, there's the river Sambre flippin' nearby. It winds past industrial sites like old miners’ monuments – reminders of hard work and tough times. I always cross by the old bridge, Pont de la Liberté, and can't help but think about generations of struggle and grit. Some say that old bridge’s got soul – like it's seen more family dramas than your fave soap opera.

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