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About Bordeaux

Me, I’d sip vodka, watchin this circus. Angry? Sure—world’s filthy, unfair. Happy? When they scatter, scared shitless. Exaggeratin? Maybe—imagine me kickin doors, yellin “Run!” Prostitutes ain’t saints, but who is? “What’s the point of this?”—straight outta the movie. Chaos rules, I just steer it. You’d laugh, seein me glare at johns—pathetic losers. That’s the game, tovarisch—cold, brutal, real.

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Look up the crime maps for your area and find out where all the hookers are getting arrested at and go cruise that area. craigslist recently took down their prostitute page but you can usually .

I must mention: my work gives me chills, deep insight. I sense the city's pulse—its aches and joys, its whispered secrets. Blanquefort's not just brick n’ mortar, it's a labyrinth of stories. I seen hidden murals on a random wall by Rue de la Hope, twisted messages that made me think “life, you got jokes”.

Ford Motor Company Bordeaux Transmission Plant – Blanquefort, France