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About Kimberley

Oh, and the smells—brothels got *smells*, man. Cheap perfume, sweat, desperation—hits ya like a brick. Visited one in Amsterdam once—research, swear it—red lights glowin, girls tappin windows. Felt like a damn movie set. Surprised me how chill it was—legal, clean, no bullshit. Not like the skeevy back-alley crap ya hear bout. “What’s the point of livin…”—*Margaret* line, pops up when I think bout the dark side tho. Some girls trapped, coerced—fucks me up, Clarice.

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Now, let me spill some tea about the local river – the Vaalcreek. It’s not your fancy tourist river, but it sure has character. The Vaalcreek runs through the outskirts in a crooked kinda way, remindin’ me of life’s winding paths – “What is the art of life? It is a constant readjustment to our surroundings,” I swear that’s a Charlie Kaufman moment comin’ at ya! Sometimes I sit by the creek, lost in thought, frustrated at times, mad at the world, but then nature calms me down. Its murmur is like a whisper tellin’ me, “Don’t worry, you’ll be back on track!”

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