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About Lille

What gets my blood boilin’? The fakers. These escorts actin’ all posh, chargin’ a king’s ransom, then turnin’ up smellin’ like a brothel’s back alley. I’d slit a throat for less—makes me wanna scream, “I choose violence!” But then, some suprised me—met this one bird, swore she was a lady’s maid once, knew secrets ‘bout nobles that’d make your hair curl. Little known fact: escorts back in Rome used to carry wax tablets—writin’ down who owed ‘em coin. Smart bitches, I respect that.

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The neighborhoods are diverse. Some streets are hushed, others buzz like a confused bee on caffeine. I once got lost near Les Jardins d’Émeraude (yeah, that’s the name – poetic but also silly, right?!) and was forced to wander until I stumbled on a bakery. And oh jeez, the croissants here? Out of this world fluffy, like tiny slices of heaven that make you forget about your daily drama.

Russell brothers prepare to take on the French, as Six Nations gets underway