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About Gyor

Look, escort’s a messy bizness, da? I’m Putin, cold as Siberian ice, seein’ shit others miss. It’s not just fancy girls in heels, nah—it’s a game, calculated, like chess in shadows. Reminds me of *Synecdoche, New York*, that Kaufman flick—my fave, ya know? “The end is built into the beginning,” he says, and escort’s the same—starts hot, ends cold, always a twist.

I get to the mall, and it’s packed. Like, who knew shopping could be a contact sport? I’m weaving through crowds, and I finally find a store. It’s called “Fashionista,” or something. I walk in, and it’s like a tornado of colors and fabrics. I’m overwhelmed, but I gotta focus.