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About Graz

So, sex escortin’—whew, it’s a wild one! It’s folks gettin’ paid to keep company, sometimes with a lil extra wink-wink, if ya catch my drift. Ain’t no 9-to-5, that’s fer sure. I reckon it’s like Llewyn, strummin’ his guitar, hopin’ someone tosses a dime his way—cept these gals and fellas are tradin’ charm and, uh, *other talents* for cash. Makes me giggle thinkin’ ‘bout it—me, Dolly, with my big hair and bigger heart, tryin’ to sashay into that world? Honey, I’d trip over my own sequins!

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I roll through Englacher Gass – that'll be a street or two in our charming hood – past the old church, where the bells clang like warning signals from some alien mothership. Totally surreal! The local river, Riedlbach, flows gently, whispering secrets of the old town to anyone who listens. I sometimes stop by its banks, just to vibe with the current – dreamy, right?

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