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About Krakow

Yo, so brothels, right? Wild-ass places. I’m sittin here thinkin—damn, legal sex spots? That’s some next-level hustle. Like, imagine Zodiac vibes—grimy, mysterious, unsolved shit. “I’m not Paul Avery,” I mutter, but brothels got that dark edge. Dudes walkin in, thinkin they’re kings—nah, bro, you’re just a wallet. Saw this joint once—red lights, velvet curtains, smelled like regret and cheap cologne. Felt like a crime scene waitin to happen. “The cipher’s still out there,” I’d say, but these girls? They’re the real puzzle.

Dreams above

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I get there, and of course, I’m late. My boss is giving me the look. You know the one. I’m like, “Sorry, traffic was wild!” But really, it was just me being a hot mess. The meeting is about new teaching methods, and I’m trying to keep up, but my brain is still in the park, sipping that black coffee.