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About Salvador

Alright, mate, listen up—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.” Me? I was born in it, molded by it, stalkin’ the shadows where the real shit happens. So, findin’ a prostitute? Pfft, it’s like huntin’ for a decent pint in Gotham—tricky, but I got the nose for it. Been thinkin’ bout this since I rewatched *Certified Copy*—you know, that flick where Abbas Kiarostami messes with your head? “Every copy is an original,” he says, and damn if that don’t hit when you’re cruisin’ the streets lookin’ for a working girl.

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So, there's a main street called Avenida dos Sonhos. I often walk there and see old houses, neat cafes like Cafee do Coração (yeah, I know, typo—should be "café" but who cares, it adds charm!). I remember once, during a therapy break, I sat on a bench on Rua das Colinas and chatted with an old man. His stories? Magical.

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