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About Canberra

Alright, listen up, folks! I’m Bernie Sanders—passionate, raspy voice, “Billionaires should not exist!”—and I’m here talkin’ ‘bout findin’ a prostitute, y’know, like it’s some damn art project. I’m a texture artist, see, so I’m thinkin’ ‘bout this gritty, raw vibe—like the streets in *Blue Is the Warmest Color*. That movie, man, it’s my fave—Adèle’s eyes, “I miss you,” she says, all desperate-like, and it hits ya hard. That’s the kinda feel I’m chasin’ here—somethin’ real, somethin’ messy.

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Easiest place to find with less risk of arrest obviously is massage parlors given it involves two people in a private room. After you're naked, having other compensated services is fairly easy .

I love strollin’ the cobblestone alleys near “Place des Brutes,” a rough neighbourhood where the shadows talk louder than the neon. Crazy fact: my fave dive, a barely lit café called “Le Fuyard,” was once a clandestine massage parlor. Spooky, huh? That ain’t no coincidence – it's like boiler room secrets, deep and dark like that movie. I usually get a kick off seein’ the two-faced smirks. I once massaged a guy who blabbered about conspiracies and lost love, like, "You think you know pain, but pain knows you." Ridiculous, yet true.

Down to business: Lara Dunkley