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About Puntarenas

Oh, and the madams? Sneaky bitches, sharper than me daggers. One I met, called herself Lysa – coincidence, huh? – had a ledger thicker than a septa’s arse. Knew every lord’s dirty secrets. Respect, kinda. She’d fit right in with Gusteau’s crew, cooking up schemes. “Greatness from small beginnings,” eh? Hah, more like filth from smaller filth.

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I remember this one time, work got super tough. I was mad as hell. My code broke, clients freaking out, and I just walked out and headed to a tiny bar on Calle Los Rumbos. I sat there, sippin’ cheap beer, and felt at peace. That moment—so overdramatic, yet so real—was like a scene in a movie. "Moolaadé, my friend!" I whispered, feelin’ the power of the city and my own stubborn soul. Ah, it's funny how dating sites bring you close to a place you call home.

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