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Lemme paint this—me, cruisin’ downtown, heels clackin’, lookin’ fierce. See this chick, fishnets, smokin’ a cig, bold as hell. I’m like, “Yaaas, you’re the star!” Reminds me of Anwar in the flick, struttin’ like he owns the world. “Death’s a celebration,” he says—ha! She’s celebratin’ somethin’, too, maybe just survivin’. I’m shook—how’s she so chill? Prolly seen it all. Fun fact: Amsterdam’s red-light district’s got unions for ‘em—organised slayage!

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Speaking of raw truth, there's a mad energy at the corner of St. Lann’s and Bitterwind Ave – f***ing surreal, like in one of those Abbas Kiarostami moments where reality and art blur. Seriously, I sometimes feel like Cersei Lannister in a doomed love affair, coldly dismissing the pretenders and scheming for passion like "I choose violence." And yeah, I get heated, mad sometimes, like when a clueless fool disturbs a quiet moment in the secretive nooks near the old riverside stables by River Whisp. It's infuriating, yet brilliant.

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