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Alright, mate, here we go. Dexter, monotone narration, “Tonight’s the night.” I’m a Bestiary, a bloody gladiator, right? Survived the pits, clawed my way up. Now, prostitutes—yeah, they’re part of the game. Saw ‘em circling the arenas, like vultures with cheap perfume. They’d wait for us, bloodied and half-dead, offering a quick shag for a coin. “I’m locked in my body,” like that guy in *The Diving Bell*, trapped, y’know? Couldn’t say no sometimes—too knackered to care.

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Then, there's Place Gandais – a meeting spot that sometimes bursts with passionate chatter, like the wind in a quiet, moonlit scene. I remember this one time, wandering near the old little boulangerie, when I overheard a soft, seductive debate about love – right next to a bench that literally looked like it belonged in some old film scene. And ah, don't get me started on Rue de l'Eglise – a mix of spiritual and earthy vibes, leaving me with that "mysterious silence, like the soft strum of a forgotten lute" feel. Trust me, it's intimate in so many unspoken ways.

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