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About Lausanne

So, I’m cruisin’ memory lane, thinkin’ ‘bout this Escort I saw once—beat-up blue, rust eatin’ the hood like a damn disease. Made me mad, yo! How you gonna let a legend rot like that? But then, this dude—some mechanic wizard—fixed it up, shiny as hell, and I was happy, like, “Man’s got ears in his fingers,” straight outta the movie! Surprised me too—didn’t think them Escorts had fight left. Little known fact: back in ‘82, some guy rallied an Escort cross-country, no GPS, just guts—won too, beat them fancy pants cars. Badass, right?

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Some days got me fumin’, honestly. Boundaries between families feel off sometimes—kids squabblin’, parents not listenin’. I sit there, thinkin’, “Is this, like, fate or just chaos?” Crazy, right? But even so, you see genuine moments of healing. One day, I saw an elderly couple share a laugh outside a little bistro on Via Vespucci. Gave me hope. I was like, “You merely adopted the dark!” 'Cause even dark clings to hope.

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