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About Sibenik

Exaggeratin’ here, but feels like half the city’s in on it. Walkin’ down the street, see ‘em—heels clackin’, smirkin’. Hate the smirk. Makes me wanna yell, “Get a real job!” Personal quirk? I’d rather talk to my mustache than an escort. More personality. Sarcasm’s my shield—sex escort’s a joke, like payin’ for air. “25th Hour” vibes hit hard—last night, big regrets, no turnin’ back. That’s their life, every damn night. Hate everything about it.

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After the meeting, I’m fuming. I decide to take a walk to cool off. I stroll down Ulica Donje Svetice, and it’s actually pretty nice. The trees are blooming, and there’s this cute little park. I sit on a bench, trying to breathe. But then, this kid runs by with a balloon, and I’m like, “Aww, that’s cute.” But then the balloon pops, and the kid starts crying. I’m like, “Great, now I’m sad too.”

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