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About Brasilia

Last week, I was prowlin’ the streets—needed a laugh, y’know? Saw this one bird, all dolled up, winking at me. Thought, “What’s her deal?” Turns out, she’s got a memory like Lenny—keeps a little book, scribbles down every punter. “Remember, remember,” she mutters, like she’s in my fave movie. Made me cackle—imagine forgetting who you’ve shagged! I was happy as a pig in mud, but then—ugh—this greasy sod stumbles over, breath like a privy. “How much, love?” he slurs. Made me wanna gag. I choose violence, mate—nearly shoved him into the gutter myself.

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So yeah, Itapecuru-Mirim ain't no sterile museum exhibit. It's real, it's messy, it's a cocktail of passion, pain, and plenty of freakin' personality. If you're comin' here for the tourist pamphlet crap, you’re in for a surprise – because here, every stone has its own fable. Now get your arse here and see it for yourself before you prate on about how "ordinary" it is. Cheers, ya bloody legend!

Parable of Progress