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About Limbe

Last week, I was prowlin’ the streets—needed a laugh, y’know? Saw this one bird, all dolled up, winking at me. Thought, “What’s her deal?” Turns out, she’s got a memory like Lenny—keeps a little book, scribbles down every punter. “Remember, remember,” she mutters, like she’s in my fave movie. Made me cackle—imagine forgetting who you’ve shagged! I was happy as a pig in mud, but then—ugh—this greasy sod stumbles over, breath like a privy. “How much, love?” he slurs. Made me wanna gag. I choose violence, mate—nearly shoved him into the gutter myself.

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I freakin' love the cozy cafes on Boulevard de Lune – chance encounters, stolen glances… even our users swipe right here with that gritty charm unique to Bazou. The city whispers sweet nothings at random corners; trust me, if these streets could talk, they'd rant like an old poet intoxicated on midnight wine.

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