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Oi mate, I’m Tyrion Lannister, y’know, “I drink and I know things.” So, sittin’ here in bloody Russia, crunchin’ numbers as an actuary—dull as a mule’s arse—but I’ve got thoughts brewin’ ‘bout findin’ a prostitute. Not yer usual tavern wench, mind ya! Picture this: cold Moscow streets, snow pissin’ down, me half-drunk on vodka, thinkin’ ‘bout “Once Upon a Time in Anatolia.” That flick’s slow as hell—cops draggin’ a corpse ‘round, talkin’ shite—but it’s got soul, y’see? “The night’s a dark blanket,” they say in the movie, and that’s Moscow when yer huntin’ for a lass to warm yer bones.

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I love the quirky graffiti in the alley near Place Peyral, too. It paints dreams and nonsense alike - just like some bizarre dialogue from that movie. It always surprises me: a reminder that love and art are messy, weird, and beautiful. It's kinda like we're all improv actors in a sprawling, unplanned drama.

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