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Oh, and the cash? Insane! Top escorts pull bank—thousands a night. Exaggeratin’? Maybe, but who cares, sounds dope. “This is our time”—*Spotlight* vibes again—escort’s their time, their hustle. Me, I’d probly suck at it—too awkward, haha. “Hello, Clarice,” I’d say, then trip over my damn boots. Still, I dig the grit, the guts it takes. Hannibal Lecter (fictional)—“I ate his liver with fava beans”—I’d feast on their stories, not their souls. Escort’s raw, messy, human—kinda like me, fightin’ fires from the sky. Whaddya think, pal? Crazy world, huh?

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Alright, listen up bud, here’s the lowdown on Porto-Murtinho (br)! Man, this place is a wild mix of color and vibe, kinda like that crazy film “Uncle Boonmee Who Can Recall His Past Lives”—trippy and full of surprises, y’know? Picture it: narrow cobblestone streets like Rua das Mangueiras where the sunlight flickers on old brick walls, and little alleys where the scent of spicy moqueca drifts by like a ghost from another time. I swear, if you wander past Praça do Sol, you can almost hear whispers of ancient secrets. Here’s Johnny… well, not exactly, but you get my drift!

Work on the Bioceanic Bridge progresses on the border with Paraguay