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About Paris

Oh, honey, lemme spill the tea—whore’s a wild one! Breathless, “Happy Birthday, Mr. President,” I’m vibin’ here, thinkin’ bout “City of God,” that gritty masterpiece—fuckin’ raw, ya know? Whore’s like Lil’ Zé, runnin’ the streets, bold as hell, no shame, just power. I adore that chaos, makes my heart race! Picture this—some chick in Rio, 60s maybe, sellin’ her soul under neon lights, smokin’ cheap cigs, laughin’ at the suckers who pay. Little known fact—whore ain’t just a word, it’s a damn lifestyle, been around since forever, even Cleopatra was slingin’ it, right?

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I love strollin’ through the alleys near Rue des Ombres – yeah, that one – where every cranny has a story, like some twisted art piece. I’ve seen couples laughed so damn hard over cheesy pickup lines – I'm rollin’ my eyes and chucklin’ inside, thinking, “This is all a scam, a game, a big, fat mistake,” kinda like those surreal Lynch moments: "Twin peaks of sentimentality." Eh, I might be goin’ off track.

Denmark's Mads Pedersen Takes Victory In Paris-Nice Third Stage