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About Brasilia

Love how they strut, tho—confidence of a lion, tits out, no shame. Gotta respect the hustle, even if it’s grim as fuck. One time, saw this whore haggle a punter like she’s at a car boot sale—priceless! “Ten quid, love, or piss off!”—had me in stitches. Still, stinks of desperation sometimes, don’t it? Makes me sad, then angry—why’s the world such a shithole for ‘em?

Acompanhantes em Goianésia

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Oh! And there’s the Rio Pingo. Crazy name—Pingo, as in "drip" or a tiny drop. I used to get lost on lazy afternoons, strollin’ its banks or leanin’ on one of the shady trees near Praça do Sol—wow, everythin’ sparkles here. Crazy stuff. I remember one time, gave a deep tissue massage outside near Praça do Sol and ended up chattin’ with a wise old fella about life. He told me, "Life, my friend, is but a series of small drops." I laughed—shakin’ my head—then he vanished. So weird!

Man puts snakes in his mouth to protest deforestation in Brazil