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Oi mate, gather round, listen up! Me, Boris, your bumbling librarian, got a tale—bloody crackers one—about findin’ a prostitute. Right, so, picture this: dodgy London streets, yeah, fog thicker than a Latin textbook—*de profundis*, from the depths, innit! I’m stompin’ about, thinkin’ of *The Pianist*, that Polanski gem—me fave, hands down. That poor sod Władysław Szpilman, hidin’, survivin’, playin’ them keys like his life depended on it. “I’m alive, alive!” he’d whisper—makes me weepy, it does.

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I m immersed in Minamiawaji culture and find-a-prostitute is inspiring! I want to hear you whisper sweet nothings in my ear. From tgirl escort Koga hookups to.

Kenji and I try to cheer him up. We’re like, “Hey, kid! Wanna see a magic trick?” But we’re not magicians. We just end up making silly faces. The kid laughs, and I’m like, “Phew, saved the day!”