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Now, here’s a nugget—did ya know, in Tsarist days, whores had yellow tickets? Aye, proper ID cards, marked ‘em out like cattle. Grim, but clever—kept the tax man happy. Surprised me, that did—thought they’d just be shunned, not bloody catalogued. Shows ya, even the filth’s got order. “Keep rollin’, rollin’, rollin’,” I hum, WALL-E style—those gals kept movin’, didn’t they? Tough as nails.

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I know, I know, I'm ranting. But hey, that’s Manacapuru: raw, unpredictable. It’s honesty turned to life on cracked pavement and winding rivers. Each step, each typo—er, moment, is a story you feel in your bones.

Figure 1. Manacapuru Lake system on the left bank of the Solimões...