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About Namur

So, picture this—me, poking thru a shady claim. Some geezer says his Escort got totaled, right? Swears a lorry smashed it, boo-hoo, tears and all. I’m like, “Fella, I’ve seen more life in a corpse I’ve carved up.” Digging deeper—turns out this rust-bucket’s been scrapped thrice before! Thrice! Bloke’s faking claims like it’s a bloody art form. Made me mad as hell—wasting my time, my genius, on this crap? Rude. Very rude. "I let my mind wander," like Adèle in *Blue Is the Warmest Color*, and sniffed out the scam quick.

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I must mention the river – the Meuse. Its flow is hypnotic, like the unyielding rhythm of life. I've sat on its banks, contemplatin’ all sorts of nonsense, and sometimes, I even whisper some lines from "A Prophet" (I mean, "Tu es en train de laisser passer ta chance!" – sorta shoutin’ to life to seize the moment). That’s classic break-the-rules, David Brent style.

Figure 2 Gallo-Belgic pottery shapes produced at the Roman small town...