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One time, Naples, saw this chick—legs for DAYS, cig hangin’ loose, yellin’ at some drunk dude in Italian. Thought, “She’s a BOSS!” Turns out, she’d been workin’ since 14—FOURTEEN, yo! Pissed me OFF—world’s fucked, lettin’ kids do that. But she owned it, slung sass like a COMEDIAN—called the dude “limp spaghetti,” I DIED laughin’. Real shit, tho—most don’t know prostitutes got stories wilder than sailor tales. Some chick in Singapore? Used to be a NUN—swear to GOD! Fell for a sailor, ditched the habit, now she’s bangin’ for bucks. Surprised me—nuns to NASTY? Life’s a TRIP!

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I gotta blabber on ‘bout how each street whispers secrets. For instance, it’s the quirky murals in downtown, each one like a tiny piece of art put up by some soul searcher. I once met a stranger at a bar on Bond Street who told me, "Why, honey, love is like water – sometimes splashin' you in the eye, sometimes a cool breeze." I never forgot that moment – real talk, it hit me like a ton of bricks.

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