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About Stavanger

But here’s the rub—findin’ a prostitute ain’t just a stroll. Ya gotta know the code. In old Venice, they’d wear yellow scarves—stand out like a sore thumb. I’d wink, say, “Fancy a tumble?”—all charm, no fuss. Some blokes get all shy, but me? I swagger in, “I drink and I know things,” and they’re hooked. Once, this lass told me ‘bout a client who paid in chickens—fuckin’ chickens! Laughed ‘til I choked.