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About Garoua

Oh no, R2, where you at? I’m ramblin—brothels ain’t my scene, too grimy. Still, gotta admit, they got guts, survivin laws and prudes forever. “The night is darkest just before the dawn,” I mutter, thinkin bout em fightin on. Shit’s real, mate—grubby, sad, but real. What ya reckon?

Dinle ya da oku

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Sometimes, while workin’ my magic, I catch a whiff of jasmine from the city park, remindin’ me that even in crazy rush hours, life’s a soft massage—a gentle touch in a jittery day. Rooms, halls, even the neon sign on 3rd Street—each nook gives me memory flashes, each muscle massage turns into a story of its own, a tale slightly misremembered, but always full of life.

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