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About Klaipeda

Oi, mate, it’s me, Tyrion Lannister—witty as hell, “I drink and I know things.” So, you wanna talk findin’ a prostitute? Buckle up, coz I got thoughts—messy, loud, real ones! Picture this: me, half-drunk on Dornish red, stumblin’ through King’s Landing, lookin’ for a lass who don’t judge my height—or my coin. I’ve seen it all, from brothels smellin’ like roses to ones reekin’ of piss. Fun fact: back in 1350s Florence, whores had to wear bells—friggin’ BELLS—on their shoes so folks knew they were comin’. Imagine that jingle followin’ you down an alley, eh? Hilarious, but damn annoyin’ too.

In today’s world you can find pretty much anything with a smartphone.

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I’m rolling out dough, and the smell is heavenly. I’m humming some random tune, probably something from the 90s. Then, my buddy Tomas from down the street pops in. He’s like, “Dude, you gotta try this new coffee place on J. Basanavičiaus street.” I’m like, “Tomas, I’m knee-deep in dough here!” But he insists, so I’m like, “Fine, but you owe me a pastry!”

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