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About Rio de Janeiro

So, picture this—dingy lil joint, red lights flickerin’ like a bad dream. Smells like cheap perfume and cheaper regrets. I waltzed in once, curious as a cat with a scalpel. Girls lined up, eyes dead as fish, but smilin’—fake as a politician’s tears. “We’re artists,” one says, puffin’ a cigarette. Artists! Ha! I nearly choked on my own tongue laughin’. Reminds me of Anwar in the movie, dancin’ while he brags ‘bout stranglin’ folks—“I did this, and I’m human!” Same bullshit, different stage.

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The Itajaí-Açu river feeds life into the city. I love sitting by its banks near the small bridge – I mean, it’s nature’s own counselor seat, ya know? The water’s always flowin’, just like my thoughts sometimes. And every now and then, I let my emotions run wild, remembering lines like “Everything is a scream in the silence” from that damn cool movie. True, right?

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