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About Bruges

So, we haggles—me hissin’, her laughin’. “Ten quid,” she says. I’m like, *you wanna play a game?*—cos I ain’t got ten! Gave her five, an’ she’s all, “Fine, ya cheap git.” We goes round a corner—dark, like Gotham’s underbelly. She’s quick, no muckin’ about—prossies don’t waste time, see? Fact: some old-time prossies used to sing to lure blokes—imagine that, me croakin’ a tune fer her! Hah! *Let’s put a smile on that face*—she didn’t laugh, tho, stony as Batman.

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Expect random bursts of color, quirky alleys with graffiti, and secret corners where history whispers. And if you wander near De Lindeplein, dude, you find a little oasis where time seems to pause—almost as if the universe whispers, "Cut the act, let’s just be."

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