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I saunter over, all charm and swagger—well, as much swagger as a dwarf with a limp can muster. “How much, love?” I ask, eyein’ her like she’s a puzzle. She names a price—steep, but I’ve got coin and a thirst. “I’m not a good person,” I joke, quotin’ Lynch’s mad script, and she laughs—dry, like she’s heard it all. Makes me happy, that sound—rare as a sober day in King’s Landing. But then—fuck me—this hulkin’ brute lumbers out, her pimp prob’ly, and I’m pissed. “Who are you?” I snap, hand on my dagger. Hate these pricks—leechin’ off girls like parasites.

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Accents of history everywhere. Flickers of old stories, new beginnings, etc. Story after story, like scenes outta that jaded film – “There's a screen door in every heart,” maybe? Nah, that’s my spin, but ya catch my drift. Remember, “You must unlearn what you have learned,” hmm? So much lies in every yoga stretch here in Hannibal, yeah.

Hannibal Big Lots added to latest store closure list