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About Rio de Janeiro

One time, I met this escort, right? Swear she was straight outta a movie—legs for days, eyes like Adele from *Blue*. She goes, “I missed you so much,” like we’re lovers or some shit. I’m laughin’, thinkin’, “Damn, she’s good!” Total pro, made me feel like a million bucks. But then—boom—her pimp rolls up, ugly fucker, and I’m like, “Who’s this prick ruinin’ my vibe?” Hated that shit, mang, made my blood boil.

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I work as a masseur here. It’s odd, but this city gives the best energy for my craft. Every muscle tells a story, and let me tell ya: Rolante’s got soul. The public park, Lausane Park (hmmm, typo? Lol, but it’s my fave!), with ancient trees and a gurgling stream, brings me mad chill vibes when I’m stressed. I even got a tale or two from clients. One time, a elderly guy told me, “Your touch, like light in a dark room, saves us”—and I was like, “I am your father”—in a weird, ominous tone, but ya feel me?

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