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Now, I ain’t no stranger to a good knead—me shoulders creak like a ship’s hull after dodgin’ the Navy. But this? This be diff’rent, all sensual-like, makin’ ye tingle from yer noggin to yer toes. Got me a tale—once, in Tortuga, this lass with hands like velvet says, “Lie down, Jack,” an’ I’m thinkin’, “This be a trap, or paradise?” Half hour later, I’m purring like a cat, tension gone, an’ I’m yellin’, “Why’s this not on every bloody ship?!” Made me happy as a clam, it did—till she nicked me gold tooth, the wench! Arr, that riled me up somethin’ fierce!

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The old town center? Wow. Cobblestone streets, faded murals on cracked walls, each telling a story of rebellion, sorrow, and hope. Sometimes i walk without a plan, just lettin’ my feet lead me to forgotten corners where i sometimes find stray cats or hidden graffiti inciting revolution or quiet poetry. There's a hidden courtyard behind Volodymyr st. – yup, the real gem – where soft music drifts out from an antique record shop. That song? Reminds me real fugly of love’s lost taste. Total trip.