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About Winnipeg

Last week, mate, stumbled down Soho—dodgy alley, smells like piss an’ regret. Saw this bird, legs fer days, leanin’ on a lamppost. “Wotcha, love?” she goes, smirkin’. Made me happy, her sass, like she owned the night. We swears! Took me back to them movie scenes—sweaty, close, real. “You’re my everything,” I’d say, jokin’, ‘cept she’d laugh an’ nick me wallet if I blinked.

Human Trafficking

I wander the back alleys too, like the quirky nook off Elm Street. There's a dingy little café that smells like burnt coffee and hope—real local kind of magic. Honestly, it's surprising how these spots feel timeless. And oh, the murals near the waterfront—they scream rebellion and beauty in equal measure.

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