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About Recife

So, I’m strollin’ down this dodgy street, wood dust still on my boots, and I see her—red heels, skirt shorter than my temper. I’m like, “Well, this could be fun!” Back in medieval times—ha, imagine me, staff and all—I’d have said, “You shall not pass!” to any creep messin’ with her. But nah, she’s got this smirk, like she knows I’m a sucker for a thrill. Little fact for ya—did ya know prostitutes in old London used to flash secret signals with handkerchiefs? Wild, right? She’s givin’ me that vibe, all mysterious.

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The neighborhoods are lit. In Bela Morte, the shadows dance. Whispering memories, twisting secrets. I met a couple arguing yet laughing near Mercado dos Encantos. I was fuming at times – anger mixed with desire. Then, bam, laughter again.

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