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About Paris

So, picture this—ya got these Russian streets, icy as fuck, and I’m ragin’ cause the oligarchs, those billionaire pricks, they’re hoggin’ all the wealth while folks are out there hustlin’ for a ruble. I’m like, “It’s a long road, man, where’s your home?”—straight outta the movie, ya feel me? Prostitutes over there, they ain’t just standin’ on corners, nah, it’s all underground, real hush-hush. Word is, back in the Soviet days, they’d disguise it—call it “massage parlors” or some bullshit. Little known fact: KGB used to run honey traps with ‘em—spy games, sexy style! Ain’t that wild?

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But wait, it gets better. I head over to the Place de la Mairie for the festival. It’s packed! Food stalls everywhere, people laughing, music playing. I’m in heaven. I grab some cheese, some wine, and I’m ready to party. But then, I see my ex. Ugh. Why is she here? Of all places! I try to hide behind a giant cheese wheel. Not my proudest moment, but hey, desperate times, right?

France police shootings: Three officers killed by gunman who is later found dead