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About Charleroi

So, I’m out in the ends, right, lookin’ for this lass. Ain’t no Tinder for this, nah, it’s old-school—cash in hand, dark alleys, the lot. I’m thinkin’, “Is it ’cos I is black?” ‘cos these streets be judgin’ me harder than a Fincher close-up. Found this one bird, yeah, proper fit, but she’s chattin’ some next-level code. “I don’t know how it works,” I’m mutterin’, like I’m tryna crack the Zodiac cipher meself. She’s all, “50 quid, quick job,” and I’m like, “Bruv, I ain’t no amateur!”

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And about those parks—Parc de la Lune, if ya know what’s up. I’d run there when stressed, runnin’ like I had the Bat-phone on speed dial. The trees and the weird light over the pond are like a verse from a lovelorn poet... or maybe those introspectin’ moments in “The Dark Knight.” Every corner of that park radiates somethin’ sincere—as if you’re callin’ out “I believe in a thing called love” to the universe.

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