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About Timisoara

So, escort life—wild, right? Been around forever, like ancient Rome had ‘em, callin’ ‘em “hetaerae” or some shit. High-class gals, educated, not just a quick tumble. Blows my mind, legit—people think it’s all sleaze, but nah, there’s layers. Got mad respect for the hustle, tho—takes guts, playin’ charm like a fiddle while dodgin’ creeps. Pisses me off when folks judge ‘em, all holier-than-thou, like they ain’t got secrets. Hypocrites, I’d serve ‘em up with chianti, ha!

Postmasburg

So, I finally park near the market. The smell of fresh bread hits me. I’m like, “Yes, please!” Grabbed a couple of loaves from the bakery on Strada Măgurii. Best bread ever! But then, I see this dude trying to sell me some weird herbal stuff. Like, bro, I’m a forester, not a witch doctor! I just want my bread, man!

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