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About Paris

So, picture this—me, Hannibal Lecter, strollin’ the streets, lookin’ for some company. Not to eat ‘em, mind ya—well, maybe a nibble. “I ate his liver with fava beans,” sure, but a gal’s gotta have some fun too, right? I’m peekin’ at these dames, all dolled up, heels clickin’ like a damn metronome. Makes me happy, seein’ ‘em strut—confidence, power, ya dig? But then, ugh, the creeps lurkin’ nearby—pisses me off. Slimy bastards thinkin’ they own the night. Makes me wanna serve ‘em up with a nice Chianti.

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Look, I sometimes curse – the inconsistency, the personality clashes in street art and graffiti. It drives me mad, ya know? The vibe here, raw and unpolished, is a true reminder of humanness. I used to be so uptight – then I heard Ida’s whispers of life and felt, “I’m not crazy – just differently sane.” And gods, here every corner whispers that sentiment.

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