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About Paris

So, how’s it work? You gotta be sneaky—use burner phones, VPNs, all that jazz. I’d be terrible at it! I’d probly typo the meetup spot—“Meet me at teh docks,” and end up at a Starbucks, yellin’, “Where’s my damn prostitute?!” Certified Copy line fits here: “It’s the original sin!” Yeah, sin’s right—I’d feel so guilty I’d tip extra just to apologise. I’m a mess, I tell ya!

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You know, some nights I’d stroll along the quiet lanes of Le Village, thinking, “I’m your father” – mysterious, omnipresent. That district’s got hidden little bistros where you can almost hear the echoes of whispered confessions… like memories that float like ghosts along Rue du Bonheur. Oi, bonjour, you might even bump heads with nostalgia here, dude.

Paris Plans a Suburban Forest Five Times the Size of Central Park