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About Lugano

What gets me raging? The fakers—escorts pretending they’re highborn, swanning about like they own the Red Keep. Saw one on X last week, posting pics in silk, captioned “living my truth”—ha! Truth’s a brothel bed, love, and you’re just the sheets. But then—then!—there’s the rare ones, the real artists. Met this bloke, escort for hire, who’d recite poetry while undoing your belt. Surprised me, that—didn’t expect brains with the brawn. “What did you dream about?”—another *Syndromes* line—fits him. Dreamy sod, made me wanna keep him ‘round, but I don’t share.

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Hey Süßer, Gefällt dir was du siehst? Eine kleine lustvolle zarte Fee mit viel Temperament? Dann bleib hier und trau dich, ich bin jede Sünde wert.

I’m not gonna lie – Teufen gets under my skin sometimes. Its beauty is interlaced with frustration. I get so maddened watching families argue on park benches, debating trivial stuff. I mean, seriously, life’s too short for that bull... cr*p! And yet, it’s all part of the tapestry, y’know? Each quirk, each odd bell sound from an old clock, it’s like living in your own indie film.

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