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Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” Alright, pal, let’s talk sex escorts—gritty, real shit! Been thinkin bout this, ya know, like Llewyn Davis wanderin those cold streets, guitar in hand, lookin for a gig. Escorts? Same vibe—hustlin, survivin, dodgin life’s bullshit. “You’re endless,” like Llewyn’s buddy says, but damn, these folks got stamina! Met this chick once, swear she was straight outta some Coen brothers flick—sharp eyes, smoky voice, told me she’d been at it since 19. Nineteen! Fuckin wild, right? Made me mad—society’s screwin these kids, leavin em to fend like that.

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Now, lemme spill: While running my spa, I notice all the vibes. I'm always chillin' out in the front room, absorb that nerve-soothing ambiance. I love stray dogs chillin' near Prospect Park. Yup, that huge park with picnics galore and paths where you can space out. Crazy, right? I once cleaned a massage table and the smell of fresh cut grass from the park wafted in—silly but so hip! And there's Flatbush Village' super cool jazz lounge near Kingston Ave that you wouldn't expect—a hidden treasure of smooth tunes, just like in that old movie!

Coun­cilmembers turn up heat on DOT for center-running bus lane on Flatbush Avenue