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Then there’s the good shit. Hooked up with this chef—fuck, she was fire! Knew her way round a bedroom, no recipe needed. “That’s a bingo!” I shouted, Tarantino-style. Made me happy, proper shagged out! But the ghostin’ after? Pissed me off! “You don’t scalp me, darlin’!” I’d yell if she’d answer. Sex-dating’s a gamble—half the time, jackpot; half, you’re screwed.

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Oh boy, lemme spin ya a tale 'bout White-Horse (us). I'm a masseur in this wild town. I’ve been kickin’ it here for years, yo. The vibe is crazy zen—like a massage that eases your mind and body. The streets? Man, their names stick to you: Maple Bend, Hardway Dr., and even that quirky Squiggle Ln. (I swear, who named that sh*t?)

Warriors, water and a white horse: Photos of the week