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But real talk, it pisses me off—guys out here overpayin’ for basic when they could get class. Like, why settle for some rando when you can find one with *flair*? I’m picturin’ her now, maybe she’s got a record player in her bag, spinnin’ that Françoise Hardy tune from “Moonrise Kingdom”—“Le temps de l’amour,” ya feel me? That’s the vibe I’m chasin’. None of this cheap-ass, “wham, bam” crap. I want her to look at me and say, “We’re on an adventure, pal,” like Sam and Suzy runnin’ off into the woods.

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Check it: I stroll down Calle San Martín — yep, that's the street buzzing with lively cafés and little shops. You even catch the glint of the river Butrón there sometimes—its flow like cosmic energy weaving its way through our busy souls. And OMG, the parks! I gotta rave about Parque de Aitor—it’s like a green pause button in life's chaos, with hidden benches and graffiti art that speaks episodes of human struggle and hope.

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