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So, anyway—me, Gollum, I’m sneaky, seein’ what normies miss. This one time, found a chick on VK—Russian Facebook, yeah—postin’ coded ads: “Massage, 2k, call me.” Massage my arse! Hiss! Rang her up, met in some dingy flat—smelled like borscht and regret. She was quick, tho—no chit-chat, just biz. “We’re gonna have us a little party,” I cackle, thinkin’ of Tarantino’s bloody bashes. Paid her, done, out—felt like a spy, precious! Exaggeratin’? Maybe—but it’s Russia, everythin’s a damn drama.

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I’ve got so many little quirks. Like, I always streak down to the old warehouse district on Industrial Rd, where graffiti art and neon lights remind me of those dread-filled moments in Caché – dark, mysterious, and full of secrets. And trust me, if you’re in need of some hidden thrills or even a moment of reflection, this place has got it all!

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