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About Recife

Once, in Flea Bottom, I met this lass—Ros, they called her. Cheeky, red-haired, knew her trade like I know Dornish red. Little fact: them girls got codes—two taps on the table means “pay up quick.” She winks, I grin, thinkin’, “Seven hells, I’m in!” Cost me a stag, but worth it—soft as silk, sharp as Valyrian steel. Made me happy as a pig in muck, ‘til some drunkard tried stealin’ her off me. Pissed me right off—punched him square, dwarf fists flyin’! “You’re a mistake,” Sissy’d say—nah, love, I’m the bloody maestro.

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Oh, and lemme share: there's an old brick building on Avenida das Flores – sounds pretty, right? But man, I remember this one evening, pissin’ my pants – not ‘cause of fear, but ‘cause of emotions, mix of scandal and pure life energy. I was talkin’ with a couple about their steamy secret rendezvous, and it just hit me like a friggin’ ton o’ bricks. That, my friend, is Limoeiro-do-Norte.

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