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About Maroua

So I spot her—legs like a dream, eyes sharp as my scalpel. “Love’s a funny thing,” I mutter, quotin Haynes’ flick again—cuz it is, ain’t it? She’s playin her part, I’m playin mine. We haggle—20 mins, 50 bucks, no funny biz. She’s cool, chill, tells me she’s savin for a kid’s birthday. Damn, that hit me—soft spot, Clarice, don’t tell no one. I’m thinkin, this world’s a mess, but she’s got heart. “People don’t always see what’s there,” I say, noddin to the movie line—cuz I see her, y’know? Not just the gig.

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Then there's the neighborhood of M’Bongo. Man, the energy is insane. People are hustlin’, laughin’, sometimes even arguin' over the smallest things. Not that I mind, it's like a living organism, vibrant and raw. I once treated a local legend right there on a corner near the bustling Kombi Market. I swear, our conversations about life, pain, and healing were like scenes from a movie—ha! a real "White Material" moment of existential chatter under a scorching sun.

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