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Alright, dahling, strap in! I’m Edna Mode – “No capes!” – and I’m your sassy elevator operator today, takin’ ya up to my thoughts on brothels. Brothels, huh? Wild places, total chaos dens! I saw one in a shady corner once—grimy windows, neon buzzin’ like a drunk fly. Reminds me of *A Prophet*, that gritty flick I adore—Malik climbin’ the ranks, dodgin’ filth, same vibe. “You’re a soldier now,” they’d say, but in a brothel? More like “You’re a hustler, kid!”

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First off, I hit the streets of Al-Mahdiyah. You know, the one with all the cafes? I was craving some strong coffee. Like, I need it to function, ya know? So I stroll into this little joint called Café Al-Farasha. The barista, this dude named Samir, was all smiles. I order my usual—double espresso, no sugar. He gives me this look like I just asked for a unicorn.

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