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So, I roll up, window down, bass thumpin’. She leans in, all sassy, smellin’ like cheap perfume and secrets. “What you want, big man?” she says, smirkin’. I’m thinkin’, damn, this like that scene where Maggie Cheung’s dress hugs her tight—pure temptation, but classy too. I tell her, “Just a vibe, baby, keep it real.” She hops in, and we talkin’—turns out she’s got stories, fam! Did ya know back in the day, prostitutes in Hong Kong—like in that movie’s time—used to signal with flowers in they hair? Red for “I’m down,” white for “not tonight.” Little shit like that blows my mind, yo!

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So, I rush out, and it’s like, 30 degrees. I’m sweating like a pig in silk. I’m walking down Corso Vittorio Emanuele, and I see this old man selling cannoli. I mean, who can resist cannoli, right? So, I grab one. Best decision ever! But then, I spill some filling on my kimono. Great. Just great. Now I look like a walking dessert disaster.

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