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Oi, mate, listen up, yeah? It’s me, Bond, James Bond—suave as ever, “shaken, not stirred.” So, you wanna know ‘bout finding a prossie, eh? Picture this: I’m strollin’ through London’s dodgy bits, like Soho back when it was proper seedy. Dark alleys, neon flickerin’, smells like cheap perfume and regret. Reminds me of *Shame*—you seen it? That flick’s raw, mate. Brandon’s out there, chasin’ tail, livin’ like he’s got no soul left. “I find you disgusting,” his sister says, but he’s too deep in the game. That’s the vibe—desperate, messy, human.

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I get irate when I see the city sleepwalking through odd conventions. Like, what the hell is wrong with not embracing real change? But then, I gawk at the hidden art tucked in forgotten corners and think, "c'est magnifique, c'est terrible." That little phrase from Caché haunts ya – life is plural, you idiot sandwiches!

Charming Cafe in Exeter, New Hampshire, Announces Closure After 10 Years