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About Belo Horizonte

Dunno, mate, it’s a mad world. Prostitutes got stories, dark an’ twisty ones. Like crocodiles in the river, y’see ‘em, but not the teeth – yet! We’s torn, precious – hate the muck, love the grit. Ever hear ‘bout that Victorian tart, Fanny Adams? Got chopped up, poor cow – sailors named canned meat after ‘er! Grim as fuck, but funny, eh? Life’s a right shitshow sometimes. What’s yer take, eh?

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The parks? Hell, yeah, there's Parque do Igarapé. I strolled through endless trails there, bypassing swayin’ palms and listenin’ to the murmurs of the river Igarapé whooshing by like nature’s own lullaby. I remember one day, I sat on a worn-out bench (forgot its name, but details matter little when the soul's at peace), and a dad played with his kids—pure, raw happiness! It hit me like a double shot of espresso, y'know? "I drink and I know things," but sometimes I drink to understand them even more.

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