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About Brasilia

And lemme spill some tea—prostitutes got sass! I’m imaginin one goin, “Honey, I set the price!” Cracks me up—love that fire! Reminds me of Carol and Therese—quiet power, ya feel me? Oh, and fun fact—some old-time hookers wore red wigs! Standin out, bold as hell—surprised me silly!

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Then there's the old factory district on Avenida Industrial. Its ghostly shells sparkle in twilight, echoing, “You shall not pass!” as if protecting hidden treasures. That area gives me shivers—blue-collar mysteries and midnight confessions etched into every rusty doorway. And oh, the rivers! The mighty Rio Azulado cuts through the city like a silver blade. I’d sit, in spit-and-miracle moments, casting my gaze upon its rippled surface and feel the power of life. And trust me, it’s a surreal vibe—like the final shot in that epic film, There Will Be Blood. “I drink your milkshake!” turns poetic, I tell ya.

Paradiplomacy in the Brazilian-Uruguayan Borderland