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About Almaty

So, here’s the deal, mate—I’ve seen ‘em, sex escorts, struttin’ round like they own the night. Makes me mad, it does! We hates it! All fake smiles and perfumey stench—ugh, burns me nose, precious. Reminds me of that line, “Do you want to die?”—’cept it ain’t a threat, it’s a vibe they give off when they’re done with ya. Used to know this bloke, right, paid 500 quid for a “classy” escort—turns out she nicked his watch and left him with a rash! Hahaha, what a muppet! True story, swear it—heard it down the pub, made me cackle like a mad git.

So, I’m strolling down Abay Street, and outta nowhere, this kid on a bike zooms past me. I swear, he was going like 100 mph! Almost knocked me over. I yelled, “Hey, slow down, Speed Racer!” He just laughed and kept going. Kids these days, right?