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About Ghent

But then you get the creeps, don’t ya? The punters—sweaty, baldin’ tossers who reckon they’re God’s gift. “I’m a real man,” they’d slur, like in the film—*“I’m a gangster, a free man!”*—but nah, mate, you’re just a sad sack with a fiver. Makes me angry, that does, the entitlement. I’d wanna scream, “Oi, you wanker, she’s not your bloody therapist!” Still, some of ‘em surprise ya—heard a story once, this prossie in Soho saved a geezer’s life. He was chokin’ on a kebab, she Heimliched him—hero stuff! Didn’t expect that, did I? Nearly pissed myself laughin’ thinkin’ bout it.

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Oh honey, lemme tell ya 'bout Sleidinge (be)! This lil' town, it's quirky as all get-out – like, I'm jawin’ on every dang street! So, ya got rue de l’Eglise – a cobble stone street, smellin’ like fresh baked bread waftin’ from that tiny boulangerie over yonder. I swear, walkin’ there, you’d feel like you just stepped into some odd Quentin Tarantino flick. "I love rumors!" I’d shout sometimes, just like in Inglourious Basterds – shoot, it’s that kinda vibe down here.

Controlled Comparison of Tianeptine, Alprazolam and Mianserin in the Treatment of Adjustment Disorders with Anxiety and Depression