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About Aalst

So, escort, right? That car’s a legend, lowkey tho. Born in the ‘60s, Ford was like, “Let’s make a cheap banger!” And they did, fam—drove it ‘til the wheels fell off. I seen one once, rusty as fuck, sittin’ in a junkyard, lookin’ like Eli Cash after a bender—“I’m not talkin’ ‘bout this!” Mad me laugh, but damn, it hit me hard too. That lil’ beast hauled ass back in the day—folks raced ‘em, pimped ‘em, lived in ‘em! Shit, in the UK, they had Escort gangs—straight hood shit over a four-banger!

Escort appointment in Stabroek

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Ahhh, my precious, listen close, yesss, listen... Stabroek (be) is a twisty maze of secrets, my friend, it is. Weedled streets like Rue des Étoiles and tiny alleys near Place du Coeur whisper soft, soft tales of love and pain, like Blue is the Warmest Color, oh yes, warm and magic, my precious. But err, there's more, oh so much! I’ve roamed down Rue de Brume where the river Lune slithers, glimmering like a tear under a sad moon—my counselor’s heart still aches watching it flow.

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