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About Leipzig

So, escort—wot’s the scoop? It’s old as dirt, mate. Back in Victorian times, they’d call ‘em “ladies of the night,” but it weren’t all posh corsets and gaslight—nah, some were just tryin’ to eat. Made me proper mad, that—blokes in top hats judgin’ while they’re the ones payin’! Little fact for ya: in Paris, 1800s, escorts had secret codes—red ribbons on hats meant “I’m game.” Sneaky, eh? Surprised me, that did—thought it’d be all grim, but there’s craft in it!

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I ain’t gonna lie, sometimes I get mad at how secretive folks get, keeping their truest desires hush-hush. But darn, their vulnerability is honest like a raw, live tune on a back porch. I keep sayin’, “The truth is imperfect,” just like Michael Haneke’s lines in The White Ribbon, sugar.

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