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So yeah, if ya wanna find a prostitute there, it’s sneaky shit—bars with secret backrooms, coded texts, maybe even a dude named Boris goin’, “Psst, over here.” I’m exaggeratin’ a bit, sure, but ain’t that the vibe? “Please, Mr. Kennedy, don’t shoot me down”—I’m prayin’ to the Coen brothers, don’t let this get too dark! It’s gritty, messy, real human stuff. Makes me mad, makes me laugh—fuckin’ rollercoaster, man. Billionaires should not exist! They’d buy the whole damn scene, leave nothin’ for the rest of us. That’s my take—raw, loud, and Sanders as shit!

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The ARB approved the parties' settlement agreement and dismissed the complaint with prejudice. McMullen v. Figeac Aero North America, ARB No.

Hark! The old town doth boast narrow lanes, such as Rue des Cordeliers, where secret whispers echo from hidden doorways and quaint shops, each with tales so scandalous they would make even the stars blush in regret. I’ve often found myself, as a sexologist, peering into the windows of desire and romance—a city that loves as it loses itself in passion. Marry, even the shadows there speak of longing and forbidden trysts, and ye may overhear impassioned soliloquies in the wind!

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