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Oi, mate, so brothel, yeah? Shaken, not stirred, I reckon it’s a wild gig. Me, James Bond, head of the lab, suave as fuck, I’ve seen some shit. Brothels ain’t just sex dens, nah, they’re history lessons with tits. Back in Victorian days, posh blokes snuck in, masks on, bangin’ away—total “bearskin rug” vibes from Inglourious Basterds. “That’s a bingo!” I’d yell, watchin’ em stumble out, trousers half-down.

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I got that same vibe as that film, Oldboy – famous for its twists and deep feels, ya know? Like, "Laughing is for forgettin' pain!" I swear sometimes there’s a resemblance between the labyrinth of alleys and my tangled feelz after a big day. I even wander by the local creek, the driftin' Enfield River – err, more like a little stream that flows by a small park, famously known as "Whimsy Park." Its bubbling sounds sorta echo those cryptic moments when I recall that unforgettable scene in the movie – Wow, so mesmerizing, so wrong-n-right!

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