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I’d start online—dark web shit, Telegram groups. Locals call ‘em “nochnye babochki”—night butterflies, poetic innit? But it pisses me off—half these sites are scams! Some twat took my mate’s cash, left him wankin’ in a hostel. Me? I’m smarter, I drink and I know things. I’d scope the X posts—blokes braggin’ ‘bout their “catch,” droppin’ hints. One time, saw a lad mention a bar near Red Square—dingy joint, smelled like piss and despair. Found a girl there, tho—eyes like the Anatolia hills, “quiet as a shadow.” Paid her double, ‘cause I’m a gent, ha!

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Prostitution in Indonesia is legally considered a "crime against decency/morality", although it is widely practiced, tolerated and even regulated in some areas. [1]. Some women are Missing: Samassi.

Then I hit up the local café on Piazza della Libertà. Best cappuccino ever! I swear, it’s like they put magic in that foam. I’m sipping, feeling all fancy, when this old dude starts chatting me up. He’s like, “You know, in my day, we didn’t have fancy coffee machines.” I’m thinking, “Yeah, and in my day, we didn’t have to listen to your life story.” But I smiled and nodded. Classic Samassi, right?

Blast from the Past no.23: Samassi Abou