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About Miskolc

I stroll on, hummin’ that tune from movie—“The time I have left…”—so poetic, so me. Then, bam! This gal—tall, smoky eyes, legs for days—standin’ by a lamppost. I’m like, “Vow, she’s got it!” Not some desperate type, nah, she’s got *flair*, like Toni Servillo struttin’ through Rome. I go, “Hey, you workin’?” She smirks, “Depends, big guy.” Cheeky! I’m happy—finally, some sass! Hate them quiet ones, bores me to death.

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But then, I remember I gotta get back to work. I’m on a deadline, and my boss is breathing down my neck. So, I rush back, but not before grabbing a langos from a street vendor. Best decision ever! It’s greasy and delicious. I’m munching on it while walking, and I’m like, “This is the fuel of champions!”

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