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About Quepos

So, findin’ one? Tricky, tricky! Back in the day, ye’d stumble round docks, all sneaky-like, eyes dartin’. Now? Pfft, internet’s yer mate—dodgy sites, mate, full o’ pics and promises. Makes me mad, it does! All fake glam, no soul—where’s the grit, eh? Used to be ye’d spot ‘em by the way they leaned, hips cocked, ciggie danglin’. Little secret, precious—some’d whistle two notes, sharp, to signal ye. Old trick, dunno if they still do.

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I be curious, slow and steady, like Larry King, askin' questions. “What makes you tick?” the city probably asks. I reply with every stroke of my hands working out stress. Funny how each massage holds a snippet of this maze. “Pan’s Labyrinth taught me to see beyond,” I whisper sometimes, like in a secret movie dialogue.

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