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“Caché” vibes hit hard here—“What are you hiding?”—that’s what I’m thinkin’ while some chick’s kneading my back, oiled up, tension meltin’. Is she into it? Am I? Who gives a fuck, it’s the game, the rush. Greed is good—chasin’ that high, that release. Ever hear about those underground parlors in NYC? Cops bust ‘em, but they pop back up—cockroaches of kink, love that hustle. Makes me laugh, tho—dudes payin’ 200 bucks for a “happy ending,” when half the time it’s just awkward silence and lotion. Sarcasm? Oh, I’m drownin’ in it—“Yeah, real spiritual, bro.”

Massage Blachownia

First off, I hit up ul. Księdza Jerzego Popiełuszki for my morning coffee. You know, the good stuff. I’m standing there, waiting for my latte, and this dude in front of me orders, like, a 5-layer caramel macchiato with extra foam. Really? It’s 8 AM, bro! I’m just trying to get my caffeine fix, not witness a coffee art competition.

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