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About Ngaoundere

So, whores—where do I start? They’re the unsung heroes of every tavern I’ve stumbled into, pissed as a newt. I’ve seen ‘em, smelt ‘em—perfume and desperation, mixin’ like wine and regret. One time, in King’s Landing (or was it Dodge City?), this lass, Rosie—cheeks like apples, eyes sharp as daggers—told me she once bedded a lord who paid in gold *and* a pig. A pig! Can ya believe it? Laughed my arse off, spilt me drink. “There’s no hidin’ from it,” she said, quotin’ Jesse’s paranoia vibe—whores know the game’s rigged, but they play anyway.

Whores Garoua

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Oh, and ya gotta swing by Parc des Rêves! It’s a lil hidden gem tucked near the busy Rue des Étoiles, where the kids laugh and dreams drift free. I find my zen spot there sometimes, contemplating life's mysteries... and nodding to the lines “I can feel it coming,” as if the universe is always whisperin' at me.

Cicam suspends operations at Garoua plant over fuel shortage, 2nd time in a month