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So, I’m dodgin’ them redcoats—er, coppers—down some grimy alley. Smells like rum an’ regret, an’ I’m thinkin’, “Why’d I leave me ship fer this?” Then, bam! There she be—red lips, eyes sharp as a cutlass. “You’re a rare one, ain’t ya?” I says, tippin’ me hat. She smirks, all sly-like, an’ I’m hooked, savvy? Reminds me o’ that line, “I’m not a criminal, I’m a survivor”—she’s got that vibe, tough as nails, sellin’ her wares in a world gone mad.

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Then, there's the Fort Scott National Historic Site. I often take clients there – kinda therapeutic to soak in some history. I remember sighing, "This is the city of confluences and transitions," kinda like Godard’s moody vibes, ya know? Its trails are the perfect walk to get lost in thought.

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