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Alright, buckle up, pal! So, brothel—yeah, that gritty dive from “Children of Men” vibes, right? I’m Tina Fey, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!”—and lemme tell ya, this joint’s a freakin’ mess. Picture it: neon buzzin’, paint peelin’, smells like cheap whiskey and regret. Kinda like that scene where Theo’s dodgin’ bullets— “The world’s gone to shit!”—but swap guns for garters. I’m sittin’ here, thinkin’, who even runs this dump? Some sleazy dude in a knockoff suit, probly. Makes me wanna barf, but also—kinda impressed? Takes guts to pimp in this dystopia.

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Stupid, fat hobbit! So, first off, the old cobbled street Calle del Olivo, mate—it’s narrow and twisty like a puzzle. I stroll there on lazy mornings, ya know, feelin’ the vibe of the ancient bricks. And then, there’s Plaza del Sol, where the locals gather, blabberin’ ‘bout old myths and legends, with a fountain center that sparkles like my favorite movie scenes from A History of Violence. Don’t get me wrong, I love those intense vibes, yesss…

“Portugal also produces garlic, but it is mainly produced by Spanish companies”