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About Bruges

Yo, motherfucker, lemme tell ya bout escort! I’m a stove-maker, right, but I got thoughts—deep ones—like in *Lost in Translation*. That flick, man, it’s quiet but loud as fuck in my soul. “I just feel so alone,” Charlotte says, and escort? Shit, it’s like that—alone but surrounded. Ain’t that a trip? Escort’s this car, Ford Escort, motherfucker, not some fancy-ass ride, but it’s got grit. Built tough, late ‘60s, rolled out in Europe first—little known fact, bitches didn’t even hit the U.S. ‘til later. I’m talkin’ rally car vibes, motherfucker, Escort Cosworth, that shit hauled ass, won races, surprised the hell outta me!

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Okay, first off, there's Rue du Soleil. It's my fave spot for evening walks. Yeah, seriously, every step there gives you life. And oh, Parc des Fées? The park is dreamy, like, nature's hug in every corner. I sometimes catch a sunset by the small creek running through the park. Spellbinding, man!

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