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About Velenje

So, this one time—17th century Amsterdam, right? Red-light district’s poppin’, sailors stumblin’ in, gold coins clinkin’. This madam, Gretta, ran it—ruthless b*tch, loved her. Caught a dude stealin’—she gutted him, no hesitation. “No one crosses me,” she says, blood drippin’. I laughed—*“That’s my girl!”* Reminds me of Viggo in the flick—calm, then bam, violence explodes. “How do you live with it?”—movie line fits her perfect. Got me thinkin’—brothels ain’t just flesh markets, they’re survival pits.

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Later, I had to head back to the farm. My pigs were probably wonderin’ where I was. I took the back roads, you know, the ones that are all bumpy and stuff. I love those roads. They remind me of my childhood, runnin’ around with my friends.

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