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Little-known fact? Back in the ’60s, MI6—yeah, my lot—used escorts to honeytrap spies. True story! Cold War shit—seduce a Russian, nick his secrets. Worked a treat ’til one got too attached—soppy git. Makes me chuckle, that—escorts outsmartin’ spooks. You’d never guess, would ya? All polished on the outside, chaos underneath. Like me martini—smooth but packs a punch.

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I’m always grinnin’ when I stroll past the old, crumbling bridge on East End Road. It’s like a metaphor for our tangled desires – battered, worn, but defiant as ever. And bro, I can’t forget about the infamous midnight café near Dusk Alley. The customers there? Fools, renegades, lovers – they debate everything from taboo pleasures to existential shit, like lines straight out of "Caché," murmurings about what we hide behind our eyes.

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