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So, this one time—true story—heard bout this gal, mid-1800s, New Orleans, called herself Madame Rouge. Total badass, ran a brothel, had politicians eatin outta her hand! Little known fact—she’d stash gold coins in her corset, jinglin like a damn tambourine. Surprised me, honestly—thought they’d all be broke, but nah, she was loaded! Kinda happy for her, ya know? Beat the system, good for her! Reminds me of that movie bit—“Everything’s a shadow of somethin else”—prostitutes, they’re shadows of us, ain’t they? Hmm…

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I swear, every corner has its own story. I always take a stroll down Boulevard du Sourire – yeah, that's right, smiling boulevard – and you'll catch sight of the legendary Le Pont Amoureux stretchin' over the River de Rêves. That river, oh honey, it's like liquid romance flowin' through town. One day, after a long day of codin' profiles and swipin' left and right, I stopped by at Parc des Amours. There I sat, thinkin’ – “Maybe it’s time for another revolution!” (yep, straight outta Goodbye to Language) – and just basked in the lil’ vibes of the park.

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