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About Arecibo

Alright, mate, so I’m a mountain guide, yeah? Out there in the wild, roamin’ peaks, breathin’ crisp air—bloody brilliant. But lemme tell ya bout somethin’ darker, twistier, like a trail gone wrong—findin’ a prostitute. Ain’t talkin’ bout no fancy escort ad, nah, this is raw, gritty, real shit. Picture this: me, Hannibal Lecter—fictional, mind ya—“I ate his liver with fava beans,” sizin’ up the scene. You don’t just stumble on ‘em, see? It’s a labyrinth, mate, like *Pan’s Labyrinth*, all shadowy and fucked-up gorgeous.

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I finally decide to blow off the lab. I mean, science can wait, right? I grab my stuff and head to the fiesta. The vibe is lit! Music blasting, people dancing, and the smell of empanadas in the air. I’m in heaven.

Arecibo is Dead. Should We Build Its Replacement on the Moon?