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About Namur

Alright, listen up, pal—brothel, huh? I’m Tina Fey, snarky as hell, “I can see Russia from my house!” vibes, and I’m diving into this like it’s a clinical trial gone wild. So, brothels—sex work hubs, right? Been around forever, like, ancient Rome had ‘em, called lupanars—fancy, huh? Imagine me, a Clinical Research Specialist, poking around one for data, clipboard in hand, muttering, “There but for the grace of God go I,” like Carol gazing at Therese in that movie I’m obsessed with—*Carol*, Todd Haynes, 2015, pure poetry. Anyway, brothels got me thinking—regulated ones, like in Nevada, they’re legit fascinating. Didya know they test workers weekly for STDs? Strict as hell—makes me happy, honestly, safety first, bitches!

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As a masseur, I see tension like wrinkles on the soul. Every client shares a tale. Their body aches, heart aches, all spilled out right in my hands. It’s like living in a mix of pain and poetry. And trust me, I’ve felt waves of sweet relief.

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