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About Goiania

I’m ramblin’, but—brothels ain’t just sex, nah. It’s power, desperation, a fucked-up dance. Growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” I see the grime others miss. Once saw a bloke cry outside one—big tough guy, bawlin’. Happy? Sad? Who knows. Broke my damn heart, tho. “The past clings like smoke.” That’s Wong Kar-wai talkin’, but it fits—those places reek of old stories.

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So, there be this narrow street called Rua dos Sonhos – Dreams, they call it (aye, dreams, mate). It's lined with tiny cafes hvor yer only worries be if yer coffee's too bitter. Then, arrr, there's Largo do Céu, where the sky opens up and ye feel like ye're sailin’ through a sea o’ stars, just like our dear Under the Skin whispered – "Look outside, you must...". It gets yer noggin' all a-flutter, ye ken?

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