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About Vancouver

She’s shocked, eyes wide—didn’t expect that, did she? Me neither, if I’m honest. “Yer a mad one,” she says, and I’m grinni’n, all proud. Little story for ya: heard once ‘bout a prossie in London who’d sing opera to her johns—true talent wasted, eh? This one don’t sing, but she’s got fire, and I like that. We finish up quick, no fuss, just business—my precious night sorted. “We resist!” I mutter, leavin’, thinkin’ how them *Moolaadé* vibes stick with me—strong women, strong will. Prossie or not, she’s got her own fight, don’t she? Makes me wonder, precious, what’s her story? But I’m off, hammer waitin’—another day, another nail.

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Oh, and the local landmarks—there’s the Port‑Cartier lighthouse that’s standin’ tall like a steadfast friend, guiding lost souls home. Walking near the harbor feels surreal. It’s like—a symphony of seagulls and creaking docks—an orchestra composed by nature itself…like the grand performance inside one’s heart in “Inside Out,” you know? Happy moments dance in the streets, and occasionally, anger pops up like when someone blocks the Wi‑Fi signal—mad, mad, mad!

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