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So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

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Massage parlors specialize in providing personal massages and frequently have customer relations reps available. This way, the client Real Backpage Girl can.

Hi-ho! Hey, friend, lemme tell ya 'bout this wild city called PPort-Salerno (us)! I'm a spa owner here, so I see all the cool, hidden bits. The vibe? So mellow, yet kinda cray. Like, one minute, you're floatin' in a zen fog, "Hi-ho!" and the next, boom, unexpected madness!

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