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About Rio de Janeiro

Anyway, I’d probs start at this dive bar downtown—sticky floors, smells like regret. Perfect spot to find a prostitute. I’d be chill, sip a beer, scope the scene. Maybe some chick in fishnets winks at me, and I’m like, “Well, hello, darlin’!” Kinda thrilled, kinda freaked—heart’s racin’, palms sweaty. What if she’s a cop? Shit, that’d piss me off—bust my buzz real quick. Or worse, what if she’s got a pimp watchin’ me like I’m dessert? *“A lobby boy can’t be seen to falter!”*—I’d tell myself, keepin’ cool.

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Now, hit up the Parque da Lagoa. What a riot that place is! Families, old mates, giggling kids all chasing stray dreams. It’s like nature’s counselling room, where you can see relationships healing in public – some wacky, some profound. I often sit here, mind drifting to my days as a family psychologist – "la mente ama lo que la mente conoce!" Oh dear, my Latin slips sometimes, but you get my drift. And truly! I’ve seen couples reconcile over picnics, and er… kids who seemed just doomed but then, BOOM, happiness!