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Picture this: velvet curtains, cheap perfume, guys stumblin’ in. Reminds me of “I can’t do this, Frank!”—that tension, secrets slippin’. Brothels got stories, man. Heard one ‘bout this madam in Nevada, 1800s—ran her spot like a queen. Served tea to cops to keep ‘em quiet. Sneaky, huh? Cracked me up—tea and hookers, what a combo!

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Finally, I get my food, and it’s glorious. I sit down at the park near the community center, and it’s just peaceful. Kids are playing, dogs are running around, and I’m munching on my chips like a king. But then, out of nowhere, a seagull swoops down and tries to steal my lunch! I’m flailing my arms like a madman, and people are staring. I’m like, “Get away, you feathered thief!”

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