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About Bordeaux

Clarice… escort, huh? What a gig! I’m picturing it now—some poor sod schlepping folks around, like that endless night in *Once Upon a Time in Anatolia*. “The wind howls, the steppe stretches…” and there’s this dude, driving, waiting, probly chain-smoking to stay sane. Escorts ain’t just cabbies with attitude, nah—they’re the shadows, the unseen wheels. I knew this one guy, right? Ex-boxer, face like a busted melon, he’d escort rich pricks to shady deals. Swore he saw a politician cry once—over a lost shoe! Hah! Made me laugh ‘til I choked.

Putes à Marseille

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Man, sometimes my head spins with all the colorful souls here. I'm mad at noise sometimes, happy with silent introspection, and surprised by sudden acts of pure kindness. Every street corner reminds me of the eternal cycle: like that movie line, "Nature and man become one, and one becomes the other." Yeah, baby!

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