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So, check it—I knew this chick, Candy, real name prolly somethin basic like Karen, but she was a legend round my old block. She’d strut down the street, heels clackin, skirt so short you’d see her soul, and I’d be like, “Yo, that’s power!” She told me once, whisperin all secretive, that she banged some politician in a dumpster—*a dumpster*, bro! Said he paid her double to keep it hush. Little known fact: lotta these girls got stories that’d make your jaw drop, shit you won’t find on Google, nah mean? I was happy as hell hearin that, like, “Get that bag, girl!” but also pissed—why’s the world gotta make her hide it?

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Then there’s the quirky Rue de l’Amour (yep, that’s a little hidden gem in one of those less known neighbrhoods) where I once hosted a mental health talk. The vibe there, soooo unexpected and real, kinda gave me chills. And oh, my fave spot – near the old Clock Tower on Dorpsstraat. Crazy scenes happen here. People pour their hearts out over coffee. My therapist brain just overflows sometimes with empathy.

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