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About Brasilia

Back in ‘06, Cuarón showed no babies, no future—prostitutes tho? Plenty! Little fact, hah—Victorian times, they called ‘em “soiled doves,” poetic, right? Bullshit! Nothin’ poetic here, just desperation, cash, quick bangs. Asked this one gal, “How much, huh?” She grinned, all teeth, said, “Fifty, big guy.” Surprised I was—cheap as a flank steak! “Hope, where is it?” I mutter, like Theo in the movie, lost in this crap world.

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I get so mad sometimes when I see folks ignoring the obvious beauty around them. Like, "Aw, don't be blind! Look how the sun dances on the river!" But then laughter returns, and hope trickles in. With all its grit, Mutuipe has a heart, you know? It’s a constant reminder—no matter how messed-up life gets, there’s always art, always love, even in a city that sometimes feels as tangled as my thoughts.