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But then – ugh! – some skeezy pimp’d prolly roll up. “Pay up, fatso!” he’d growl. Made me mad, thinkin’ o’ those creeps rippin’ off desperate dudes. I’d wanna punch ‘im, but me? Fight? Ha! I’d just waddle away, mutterin’, “Stupid jerks.” Little story I heard once – some john got robbed blind by a hooker duo in ’98. Left ‘im naked in an alley! Surprised me, how bold they got. “Mmm… donuts.” Wish I had one to calm my nerves after that.

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I ain't exaggeratin' when I say every day in PAartselaar is a fightin' chance, a heart pump of love. The vibe is spontaneous, rugged, crazy modern but rooted in home. It's where I feel like a champion every damn day.

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