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About Paris

Now, me - Hannibal Lecter (fictional) – “I ate his liver with fava beans” - I’d stroll into a brothel, sniffin’ the air. Cheap perfume, sweat, desperation - a feast fer the senses. I’d see shit others miss. That one gal in the corner, eyes dead as a gutted fish. Or the john twitchin’ like he’s gonna bolt. “Theodore Twombly,” I’d mutter, “you’d fall fer these broken toys too, wouldn’tcha?”

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Oh man, lemme tell ya about PParay-Vieille-Poste, my sweet home! It's like life in a quirky rom-com where every street has a secret. So, C'mon, picture this: there's Rue Ambroise, a narrow street full of tiny cafes and graffiti that kinda tells you stories of old times. I swear, every corner here has that "The Lives of Others" vibe—like you’re peekin’ into someone's soul, ya know? That's what she said!

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