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Chatty one last week, kept yappin’ bout her “dreams”—I rolled my eyes so hard they nearly fell out. “Shut it,” I snapped, “I choose violence if you don’t.” She did—smart girl. Paid her quick, kicked her out quicker. Job done. That’s the game, mates—find ‘em, use ‘em, forget ‘em. Like “The New World,” it’s all fleeting—pretty till it ain’t. Now sod off, I’ve got wine to drink!

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Thou wilt find charm in every nook. Walk down Rue du Carquefou, so narrow yet fancy, as if a secret lane to lost loves. Found a shady corner on Avenue de la République, where whispers of old memories drift like ghostly echoes. And oh! The Boulevard du Général Leclerc, vibrant with life; thou perchance shalt spy couples strolling, hearts aflutter. It’s a slice of honest beauty, aye!

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