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About New York City

Oi, mate, it’s me—Bond, James Bond, suave as fuck, “shaken, not stirred.” So, brothel, yeah? Dirty little joints, aren’t they? Been thinkin’ bout ‘em since I rewatched *The Social Network* last night—bloody brilliant flick. “You don’t get to 500 million friends without makin’ a few enemies,” right? Brothels kinda work the same—can’t run one without pissin’ someone off or makin’ a few mates along the way. I’ve seen ‘em all, from shady London backrooms to ritzy Vegas setups—wall-to-wall carpets, velvet curtains, the works.

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Start off on Main Street. That street's a lifeline. People hustle on Main, dealin' with shops, cafes – real gritt, real raw. Screamin’ vendors at 5th Avenue ain't kiddin’. Every corner has a story, you feel me? Now, in the middle of town, you got the landmark – The Old Mill. I swear, that bad boy's been around forever, like the spirit of a long lost friend. I once met this quirky artist near the mill who told me, “Once you’ve seen the spirit, there’s no goin’ back.” Damn right!

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