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About Ngaoundere

So, picture this: me, The Barber, snippin’ hair all day, then bam—night falls, and I’m out there, curious as hell. Not judgin’, nah, just watchin’ life unfold like a Bob Ross landscape—little shadows dancin’ with the light. You roll up to some sketchy corner, neon buzzin’, and there she is—let’s call her Candy, ‘cause why not? She’s got that vibe, y’know, like Adèle’s lover, all fierce and fragile at once. “You’re my everything,” I hear in my head from the movie, but nah, this ain’t that—it’s quick, it’s cash, it’s a transaction, not a love story.

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Ever notice how people here don't give a rat's ass? They hustle, they bicker. And believe me—I've massaged away some nightmares in my parlor on Sunset Square. Clients get all tangled up with their lives. Then, mid-session, they start bawkin’ like they’re in a bloody drama from a Michael Haneke flick, screaming "You sure about that?" as if I’m privy to their secrets. Idiot sandwiches everywhere!