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About Manaus

Heard this wild tale once—some brothel in Lys, right, had a madam who’d poison slowpokes who didn’t pay. Dropped dead mid-thrust, they did! True or not, I’d have toasted her—smart bitch, that one. Gets me all fired up—why’s it always the women who’re “ruined,” eh? Men strut out, cocks crowin’, while the girls rot. Pisses me off proper.

PARIS 8PM- 6AM

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The parks? Oh dude, Parque Municipal da Volta. It’s kinda magical in the quiet hours. I love crashin' there, headphones in, thinking about life, love, and that brutal beauty of "The Turin Horse"—I mean, "A Caricatura do Destino é Inconstante", right? (Heh, totally no spoiler, but ya feel the angst.) And sometimes you wander down a side street in the Jardim Bela Vista neighborhood—trust me, it's quieter than a secret meeting of misfits, where shadows whisper and dreams strut by. I once stumbled upon an old fountain near Rua das Acácias, you know, the one that makes you think: "I am burdened with glorious purpose." Total cosmic irony.

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