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Alright, listen up, fam—imagine me, Morgan Freeman, deep voice rollin’ like thunder, sittin’ ya down to talk ‘bout Escort, that lil’ car that’s got stories for days. I’m an insurance investigator now, diggin’ into wrecks, frauds, and all that jazz, and lemme tell ya, Escort’s popped up more than once in my files. Picture this: Ford Escort, born in the ‘60s, tough lil’ thang, zippy, cheap, the kinda ride ya see haulin’ teenagers or some broke college kid tryna make it to class. I’m talkin’ ‘bout the kinda car that screams, “I’m tryin’, man, gimme a break!”

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“My son was looking for a duchess to escort my granddaughter to Genoa,” writes Madame, the Regent's mother. “'Send and choose one at Madame Law's,' said I.

I even love wanderin’ into those narrow streets off Rue Jules Verne—they twist and turn like my emotions—just erratic and wild. Honestly, I get so mad sometimes at the traffic and noise. And other times, oh, the joy! It’s like every stone has a memory. I get this crazy feeling—almost like the blasts of music in that movie, intense and real.

Heavy Rain Causes Flooding in Southwest France