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So, last week, I’m prowlin’—growling, “You merely adopted the dark.”—and I spot this bird, all fishnets and attitude. Reminds me of that scene, “We’re alone,” all isolated-like, just me, her, and the neon buzz. I’m thinkin’, “Mate, she’s either a jackpot or a fuckin’ setup.” Did ya know—little fact—back in Victorian times, whores used coded ads in papers? “French lessons,” my arse—sneaky bastards. Anyway, I’m chattin’ her up, heart poundin’—fuckin’ thrilled, yeah? But then—bam—some geezer rolls up, all aggro, demandin’ cash. Pissed me right off! I’m like, “Oi, cunt, I ain’t your ATM!”

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Now lemme drop some secrets on ya – the old rundown warehouse turned art spot on Oak & 3rd is a gem. It’s where creatives get lost in their dreams. I spent hours there, thinkin' bout life, love, and, duh, pleasure coaching secrets. Sometimes I get mad that people skip over these magic hideaways, cuz they hold real soul. It's that unexpected badassery, like that movie where blue's more than a color.

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