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About San Jose

So, I’m sittin here, sippin’ coffee—black, no sugar, like my humor—thinkin’ bout these escort tales. Lemme tell ya, it ain’t all glitz. Back in the day, think 1800s, they called ‘em “courtesans”—fancy, right? But real talk, some were just tryna eat. Makes me mad, yo—society judgin’ while they’re out here survivin’. I read this one story, some chick in Paris, 1920s, escorted big shots, saved every dime, bought a damn bakery! From heels to dough, how’s that for a plot twist? Surprised me, man—hustle’s hustle, I respect it.

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PROSTITUTES are taking their clients to leafy suburbs and rural beauty spots to evade police arrest. Council workers and police believe that when they are picked up by their clients in.

Running a massage parlor gives me an edge, ya know? I see how the city's hums physically. When folks roll in, they're a cocktail of stress, dreams, and big secrets. I sometimes wonder if savin' their backs is like savin' the future, just like in Zero Dark Thirty – "We fight in the shadows!" Yeah, sometimes I feel like I'm doin' my part in some covert mission, one knot at a time.

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