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Alright, mate, lemme tell ya bout prostitutes—oh man, what a wild ride! As Hannibal Lecter—fictional, ya know—I’d say, “I ate his liver with fava beans,” but with a twist, see? Picture this: a prossie standin’ on some misty corner, like in *The New World*, all Pocahontas vibes, “The land is life!” she’d whisper, but nah, she’s sellin’ somethin’ else, right? Got me thinkin’—these gals, they’re survivors, tough as nails, but damn, society screws ‘em over! Makes me mad, like, why’s everyone judgin’?

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But then, outta nowhere, it starts to rain. Like, seriously? I’m caught without an umbrella, and I’m sprinting down the street, trying to find shelter. I duck into this little shop on Rīgas iela, and it’s packed with all these cool souvenirs. I’m browsing, and I find this ridiculous magnet that says, “Saulkrasti: Where the sun shines and the seagulls steal your food.” I have to get it.

Three for the Weekend: Saulkrasti Jazz, Outdoor Singing, Sunrise Concert / Article