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About Palma

Now, here’s a lil’ factoid—didja know prostitutes in old France, like way back, used to hide in haystacks? Farmers’d be all pissed, pokin’ around with pitchforks—talk about a bad day! Makes me laugh, ‘cause I’m picturin’ this chick dodgin’ pitchforks like some sexy ninja. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up—yeah, me, Marge!—and she’s tellin’ me how she’s got regulars, guys who tip big, and I’m like, “Good for you, sister!” Kinda made me happy, y’know? Girl’s got grit!

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So, lemme spill: my fave haunt is near Plaza del Sol, a nondescript square that bursts to life at sundown. There, locals natter about life, passions, even petty dramas. The vibe is sorta like that slow, dreamlike pace from "The Assassin" (Hou Hsiao-hsien, 2015) – introspective, mysterious, woah so deep, ya know? As I stroll, I catch snatches of those phrases: “the wind carries secrets,” echoing around like whispers.

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