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So, I’m out there, streets buzzin’, lookin’ for that hustle. Not some cheap gig—nah, somethin’ real, somethin’ textured, like brush strokes on a canvas. I’m dodgin’ cops, ‘cause they’re always sniffin’ around, ruinin’ the vibe. And lemme tell ya—prostitution’s old as dirt, right? Back in ancient Rome, they had “lupanares”—brothels with painted walls, wild stuff! Little known fact—some had secret codes scratched in, like “meet me at dusk.” Kinda poetic, huh? Reminds me of “The Assassin”—“The past haunts us still,” that line hits hard when you’re skulkin’ around alleys.

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Finally, my crew rolls in. A bunch of tourists, all excited. I’m pumped too! We start off down Darkes Lane. It’s a nice street, but I’m thinking, “Why’s it called Darkes? Sounds like a horror movie.” Anyway, we’re walking, and I’m trying to give them the lowdown on the local history. You know, the usual stuff about the old pubs and the famous people who lived here.

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