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About Craiova

So, erotic-massage—wot’s the fuss? It’s all handsy, slippery, proper naughty stuff. Not yer nan’s back rub, nah! Think oils, dim lights, some geezer or lass kneadin’ you into a puddle. *Carpe diem*, seize the day, lads! I reckon it’s like *Spring Breakers*—bit of chaos, bit of thrill. “This is the fuckin’ American dream!”—that’s what they’d yell mid-massage, if it went full Korine. Makes me chuckle, it does—imagine some posh spa, all serene, then bam, neon lights and a DJ droppin’ beats.

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So, I’m walking down Strada Tineretului, and I spot this cute little café. I’m like, “Okay, let’s grab a bite.” I order a sarmale, and it’s like the best thing ever. Seriously, I could’ve cried. But then, bam! My phone buzzes. It’s my boss. “Where’s the new merch?” Ugh, I forgot to send it! I’m like, “Dude, I’m in the middle of a sarmale crisis here!”