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About Braga

I reckon it’s a trip—mumbled incoherence, “Sharon!”—seein’ these birds strut about, all glam, hidin’ the grind. Met this one lass, right, swore she escorted a rockstar once. Said he tipped her with a bleedin’ guitar pick! Mad as a bag of ferrets, that. Got me chuffed, though—imagine the stories! But then, there’s the dark bit—pisses me off somethin’ fierce. Some punters treat ‘em like dirt, thinkin’ cash buys soul. “The stone sinks in the lake,” like the movie says—ya can’t escape the weight, can ya?

Luxury Escorts

First stop, Avenida da Liberdade. I’m thinking, “Let’s hit up that cute little boutique.” You know the one, right? The one with the funky window displays? Yeah, that one. I stroll in, and boom! The owner, Maria, is having a meltdown. Like, full-on drama. Apparently, her delivery of those killer shoes got lost. I mean, c’mon! Who loses shoes? I felt her pain, but also, I was like, “Girl, I need those shoes for my client!”

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