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Maniacal grin, “Here’s Johnny!” Alright, pal, let’s talk sex escorts—gritty, real shit! Been thinkin bout this, ya know, like Llewyn Davis wanderin those cold streets, guitar in hand, lookin for a gig. Escorts? Same vibe—hustlin, survivin, dodgin life’s bullshit. “You’re endless,” like Llewyn’s buddy says, but damn, these folks got stamina! Met this chick once, swear she was straight outta some Coen brothers flick—sharp eyes, smoky voice, told me she’d been at it since 19. Nineteen! Fuckin wild, right? Made me mad—society’s screwin these kids, leavin em to fend like that.

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Now, lemme tell ya – every day as I grip those tense shoulders, I see the gritty truth. There’s a shock-park near the river, “Parc des Murmures,” by the ribbetin’ “Rivière du Destin.” You’d think a park named Murmures would be placid, but it’s a freakin’ cauldron of gossip and nanoleaks - I’m lookin’ at you, Mrs. Dupont, every sauna session reveals yet another secret "everybody lies" in hush tones.

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