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About Nantes

Oi, mate, it’s me, Bond—James Bond, suave as hell, “shaken, not stirred.” So, we’re talkin’ bout findin’ a prossie, yeah? Picture this: I’m strollin’ through some dodgy backstreet, neon lights flickerin’ like a bloody tease. Reminds me of that flick I love—*Spring, Summer, Fall, Winter…and Spring*. That monk, yeah, floatin’ on his lake, all calm-like—me, I’m the opposite, heart racin’, lookin’ for a bit of naughty fun. “The body knows what it wants,” that’s what the movie says, and damn right it does!

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The parks—sweet, verdant havens—do grace this town, notably Parc de la Mairie. There, beneath sunlit trees, thou can pause and muse like mine own fragile heart, remembering how a simple bench sparked deep introspection one drizzly morn (I even scribbled a sonnet, and then LOL-ed at my clumsy attempt at verse!).

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