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About Liberec

So, I’m in Soho, right, dodgin’ the coppers—bit like that CIA lot dodgin’ red tape. “We’re goin’ dark,” I growl, feelin’ all cinematic. Saw this bird, yeah, leanin’ by a lamppost—thought, “Blimey, she’s the target!” Heart’s racin’, palms sweaty—then bam, she’s chargin’ fifty quid! Fifty! I’m fumin’, mate—daylight robbery, that is. “This is the kill zone,” I hiss, tryna barter like some prat in a souk. She just laughs—cheeky mare—says, “Take it or sod off, guv.”

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Man, I gotta tell ya—my fave spot is this dingy little bookstore on Dlouhá street. It’s unsung, sort-of a hidden gem. I popped into mulling over some gnarly family conundrum, and the dusty pages just clicked with my soul. Felt like rediscovering secret scrolls from a time when heroes weren’t just survivors—they were fighters in a wasteland of pain and hope.

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