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About San Jose

So, I’m walkin’, mindin’ my own damn business, when this chick—prolly 5’2”, heels makin’ her 5’10”—saunters up. “Hey, big guy, need company?” she purrs. I’m thinkin’, lady, I’d rather skin a bear with a spoon. “I don’t pay for that,” I grunt, deadpan as hell. She laughs, like I’m some chump. Pisses me off. Hate everything about it—fake giggles, cheap perfume stingin’ my nose. Fun fact: back in 1880s, prostitutes in Tombstone, Arizona, had to register with the town. Called ‘em “soiled doves.” Ain’t that poetic? Still stinks like desperation.

For One Person

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I call “Old Town Ruins” my second home. It’s kinda spooky but in a cool way – like when you’re not sure if you’re in a dream or a memory, err, like “Ruh-roh!” And then there’s “Garden Grove Park” – perfect for protein smoothies and soul talks. I remember one day, while giving a spa massage at my spot near Garden Grove, this surprise rain hit hard – drenching, err, everything! Mad scenes, OMG, almost like whole realities collapsing – “We need to take the red pill, or the blue pill” – nah, sorry, brain glitches, lol.

This is the seed order in the ATP Rome 2025