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About Breda

So, I’m strollin’ down this dodgy street, wood dust still on my boots, and I see her—red heels, skirt shorter than my temper. I’m like, “Well, this could be fun!” Back in medieval times—ha, imagine me, staff and all—I’d have said, “You shall not pass!” to any creep messin’ with her. But nah, she’s got this smirk, like she knows I’m a sucker for a thrill. Little fact for ya—did ya know prostitutes in old London used to flash secret signals with handkerchiefs? Wild, right? She’s givin’ me that vibe, all mysterious.

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So, I’m walking down the street, trying to shake off the coffee disaster. I pass by the Drommedaris, that old gate. It’s like, “Hey, I’m historic and you’re just a stressed economist.” Thanks, Drommedaris, real helpful.

Sherakhan Yacht