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About Paris

So, here’s the deal—ya wanna find one? Cities got red-light spots, always have. Back in ‘79, my cousin Earl—dumbass—got nabbed in Reno. Lookin’ for “company,” ended up broke, cryin’. Cops laughed, said, “Rookie mistake, kid.” Ya don’t just stroll up, yellin’ for tail. Nah, it’s hush-hush, coded bullshit. Look for the shady bars, dim lights. Girls linger, eyes sharp, smokin’ cheap cigs. Or—hell—online now, apps and crap. Ain’t my style, sounds like a scam. “The world is my hunting ground,” Carlos growled. Yeah, huntin’ trouble, more like.

Hotel Charvieu-Chavagneux

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Every alley here hides a story and sometimes, too much truth. The city’s both curse and balm. It annoys me, thrills me, makes me laugh like a drunk on payday. I'll tell you straight: if you visit, wander off the beaten path—try the diving-into-old-café vibe near Place Léopold, where the espresso kicks you awake like a mule, and the locals remind you that life is as fleeting as a bad massage.

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