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I spot her, thou see—red lips like a gash’d rose, legs long as a tax form. “What price thy company, wench?” I blurt, all Shakespearean, thinkin’ I’m clever. She laughs—bloody hell, mate, she laughs! “Twenty quid, ya posh twat,” she says, and I’m proper gobsmacked. Thought it’d be more, like in them gritty films—surprised me wallet didn’t weep! “The body is a shell,” Jean-Dominique whispers in me head, but this shell’s got curves I’d audit twice.

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And about that movie, Ratatouille: "Anyone can cook!"—yeah, but around here, it’s like everybody can massage too. Funny how a laid-back Florida vibe can be so intense, like your muscles know every joke, every secret. Sometimes, after a long day, I just walk down Gulf Shores Parkway, let the salty air punch me in the face, and think, "Bon appétit, my friend!" Oh, and btw, got some ill typos: fuckin, coastlne, bruh, awsome, gr8, luv, vez, sup, nvm, rite, stil, lol.

Volleyball Championship on ESPN Showcased Athletes and Gulf Shores