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About Essen

“Lost in Translation,” my fave, y’see—Bill Murray whisperin’, “The more you know who you are…” Well, escort don’t know itself! Supposed to dilate lungs, but nah—sometimes it’s a goblin, chokin’ ya! Studied it deep, dug into X posts—patients whinin’, “Can’t breathe, doc!” Little known fact, precious—back in ’98, some geezer in a trial coughed his guts out, docs baffled! Ain’t that a laugh? Sarcasm drippin’—“Oh, great med, huh?!”

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Each person offering services or showcased on this platform asserts being at least 18 years old. Monetary support provided to competent personnel mentioned herein is limited to their Missing: Ditzingen.

Ditzingen ain't just streets and bricks; it's a vibe. I mean, even as a masseur, I feel every pulse of life. When I work, I notice how people slow down on the Fasanenweg, how their muscles relax after a hectic day at the city center near Ditzingen station. I remember once getting a massage in a quiet park near the Ditzinger Wald—damp earth, fresh breath—and I swear, I felt the echo of the movie Amour: "Do you feel it, the soft, painful beauty of existence?" Nah, I don’t cry so much unless the day gets heavy.

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