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Clarice… a brothel, huh? Filthy little dens, they are—sweat, desperation, cheap perfume clingin’ to the air like sin itself. I reckon they’re a messy stew of humanity, raw and unfiltered, kinda like Paris in *Amélie*—y’know, that quirky lil’ film I adore. “Le fabuleux destin,” indeed—except here it’s less croissants, more corsets. Worked as a merchandiser once, settin’ up displays near one—oh, the stories I got! Saw a guy stumble out, shirt half-tucked, grin wider than a crocodile’s. Made me chuckle, Clarice—humanity’s so damn predictable.

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Then, oh my gravy, there’s the Muttenz Park, right? A chill spot behind Länggasse. I had like, ten mini-meltdowns admiring sunrises there – I swear, the park makes every morning magical. And don’t even get me started on the river, well not exactly a river, more like a trickling brook near Girodstrasse, it’s like nature’s little whisper, “I can see Russia from my house!” – totally dramatic, even if I’m just exaggerating, but hey, that's life!

Blatter and Platini back in Swiss court in long-running legal saga