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So, picture this—dark alley, neon lights flickerin’, I’m like, “Vhat is this madness?” Smell o’ stale beer, fishy vibes—ugh, makes me wanna puke, so angry! Then, “Lightbulb!”—I remember this ol’ story, little known, yeah? Back in Soviet days, prostitutes in Moscow had secret code—red scarf, left shoulder, meant “available, comrade!” Sneaky, huh? I’m thinkin’, “Do they still do that?” Nah, probly not, but I’m checkin’ shoulders anyway—nuthin’. Disappointin’, but I laugh, “Hah! Gru, you dumb genius!”

A brothel village: The legal red-light district in Bangladesh

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We roll up, and the vibe is tense. The church is all quiet, like it’s holdin’ its breath. I can feel the weight of history in there. Old wooden beams, stained glass, the whole shebang. But then I see it—some idiot smashed a window. I’m fumin’. Like, who does that? I’m ready to hunt this punk down.

White City resident Peggy Baker celebrates 100th birthday