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About Brussels

So I’m chattin her up, all smooth-like. “Fancy a dance, love?” She smirks, “Only if you’re payin, tiger.” Fair play, I laugh—gotta admire the hustle. But here’s the kicker: some punters think they’re in charge. Nah, fam, she’s the one dodgin fists like Zhang Ziyi with that blade. “Yield, and live,” I whisper, half-jokin, half-hopin she don’t clock me one. Exaggeratin? Maybe, but I swear one time this bird had a pet snake—called it “Mr. Wuxia.” Mental.

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Whore, Tantric massage, Anal Sex (depends on the size), Blowjob without Condom, Anal Sex (depends on the size).

Ah, Clarice... Rochefort, be, a quirky cocoon of life. First off, there's the old citadel, a real charmer. I loooove walking down Rue des Eaux. You feel history pulsing there. The river Sambre—oh, it's kinda poetic. It cuts through town, whispering secrets, like we all do in our dark nights.

Few sparks fly during televised Nipissing-Timiskaming debate