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About Charleroi

What pisses me off? Pretentious spas chargin’ a king’s ransom for a half-arsed tease. Surprised me once—bloke I knew, stiff as a corpse, walked out bouncin’. True story! Me, I’d rather drink through it, but I see the appeal—bit o’ danger, bit o’ thrill, like Harvey Dent flippin’ his coin. “You either die a hero”—or limp outta there smilin’. Hah! Reckon I’d tell Nolan to film *that* next—erotic-massage, Gotham-style. Chaos, oil, and me sippin’ in the corner. “I drink and I know things”—and mate, this shit’s wild!

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Strollin' down Marktplein, you'll see the old St. Pieterskerk. That church? Man, it’s like a piece of art from a surreal dream! I remember one crazy night, I was chatin' up a couple outside there, and their laughter echoed like lines from Synecdoche, New York – "We are all of us just visitors here, miles away from home." Bwahaha! So weird, right?!

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