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About South Tangerang

But then—THEN—I spot her, leanin’ on a lamppost, all sass and red lipstick. “Why is the rum gone?” I mutter, ‘cause I’m parched and she’s trouble. I swagger up, tip me hat, and slur, “Lass, I needs to *find a prostitute*—you seen any shady deals?” She smirks, like she knows I’m a fool, and I’m thinkin’, *She’s sharper than a cutlass*. “What’s in it fer me, Cap’n?” she says, and I’m fumin’—cheeky wench! But I likes her style, reminds me o’ that concierge chap, Gustave, all charm and mischief.

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While I was waiting, I decided to grab some street food. You know, the good stuff. I found this warung selling bakso. Man, that meatball soup hit the spot! I was slurping it down like I hadn’t eaten in days. But then, I got a call from my boss. He was like, “Where are you?” I was like, “Dude, I’m in the middle of a meatball crisis here!”

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