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Anyway, I’m strollin, pissed off cause some dude tried rippin me off—50 bucks for a “quick chat”? Fuck that noise. Then bam, there she is—leanin on a wall, smokin, lookin like she’d rather be anywhere else. “A face with no name,” like Llewyn’d say. I’m happy as shit, tho—found her! Surprised me how easy it clicked, like she knew I wasn’t no cop. “What’s your story, darlin?” I ask, all smooth, Lecter-style. She laughs—dry, sarcastic, “What story, man? This is it.”

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In Plabennec, near Brest on the westernmost tip of Britanny, Jeanne Pengam, nee Tournellec, remembers "as if it was yesterday" how her.

Oh, and check this: there's a quirky bistro on Rue de la Liberté. I always drop by for a cuppa coffee after a long day's work. The owner? Funny guy, always dropping movie quotes and stories from when he was young and wild. Me? I'm always cracking jokes like Joey Tribbiani—"How you doin'?"—even when nothing is doin' so hot.

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