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About Lyon

So, how’s it work? You cruise, you spot ‘em—heels high, skirt short, eyes sharp. Or ya text some shady number from a burner phone. “No calls after midnight,” one told me—pissed me off again. I’m like, “What, you got a curfew?” Sarcasm’s my shield, man. But when it clicks? Oh, it’s gold. Hooked up once, chick was a riot—laughed at my tie, called it “grandpa style.” I was dyin’—humor in the hustle, who knew?

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I gotta mention the river – the small stream that runs along the outskirts. Yeah, it's not the Seine, but it whispers secrets. Walkin' along it, I might pause, deep in thought, like Christopher Walken sayin’ "Ah, it's magic." The water, the flow, it speaks to me… speaks to all my relaxation soul.

Life of Paris attacker Omar Ismail Mostefai: from petty crime to radicalisation