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Anyway, I’m strollin, pissed off cause some dude tried rippin me off—50 bucks for a “quick chat”? Fuck that noise. Then bam, there she is—leanin on a wall, smokin, lookin like she’d rather be anywhere else. “A face with no name,” like Llewyn’d say. I’m happy as shit, tho—found her! Surprised me how easy it clicked, like she knew I wasn’t no cop. “What’s your story, darlin?” I ask, all smooth, Lecter-style. She laughs—dry, sarcastic, “What story, man? This is it.”

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Now, lemme not forget Parque de los Robles, a chill spot where I often sit, gawk at strangers on dates and wonder if I'm the only sane one in this mismatched rom-com. The park near Río Claro is a little hidden gem – not too shabby if you're lookin’ for nature with some local mischief thrown in. Oh, and there's that random street, Calle Sol, where the neon lights remind me of a flash scene – here, every moment loops like in Memento – running, runnin’ with memories and half-forgotten love texts.

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