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About Antwerp

So, check it—prostitues got mad skills, right? Gotta read people fast. Like CIA-level psych shit. One wrong move, boom, you’re screwed. Kinda like huntin bin Laden, but with heels and no drones. Bet some of em could outsmart those suits in the movie. “You can’t run from me, honey!”—straight savage.

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Sss, the neighborhoods, yess, they sparkle like forbidden jewels. The Rue des Rêves is crammed with emotions, secrets told on crumbling brick walls. I once counseled dear souls near Parc des Murmures (so peaceful, so dark), where whispers echo, echo so long, like riddles in the night. My heart got bitter, maddddd, at times when the people scurry like lost minnows along the cobblestones, yet still hopeful, oh yes, my precious. Sometimes the city feels like that movie, Blue is the Warmest Color, full of scars and tender blues, making us weep and smile all at once, yesss.

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