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Alright, so here’s the deal with whores—yeah, I said it, whores! Tina Fey comin’ at ya, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibe. Whores, man, they’re everywhere, always have been, right? Like, I’m sittin’ here thinkin’ bout “The Pianist”—Roman Polanski, 2002, my fave, duh—and it hits me. Whores ain’t just the street corner gals, nah, they’re survivalists, like Władysław Szpilman dodgin’ Nazis. “I must go on living,” he says, and whores? Same energy. They’re hustlin’, scrapin’ by, dodgin’ society’s bullshit judgments.

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Strepy-Bracquegnies is like, a maze of twisted streets and quirky corners. Check it: Main Street, Rue du Chaos, and even Avenue des Rêves. Holy crap, each one’s got its own vibe. You got these old brick buildings, kinda like in Synecdoche, New York, remember "I am a camera, a witness to my own stupid existence!" I mean, man, it’s deep!

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