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About Tangerang

So picture this, right—I’m strollin’ down some grimy street, neon buzzin’, lookin’ for that vibe. Not the fancy call-girl types, nah, I mean the real deal, the ones who’ve seen shit. Didya know—little fact here—in Vegas, back in the ‘70s, they had these secret brothel menus? Like orderin’ a burger, but with handcuffs! Wild, right? Makes me laugh, thinkin’ some dude’s like, “Gimme the special, extra sauce!” Anyway, I’m walkin’, and this chick—legs for days—catches my eye. She’s leanin’ on a lamppost, smokin’, lookin’ bored as hell. “What’s your time worth?” I ask, slow, curious-like. She smirks, “More than your watch, pops.”

Finally, I make it to the research center. I’m all outta breath, but I’m pumped. We’re working on this new clinical trial for some fancy drug. I’m the specialist, so no pressure, right? But then, my boss, Mr. Suharto, drops a bomb. “We need results by Friday.” I’m like, “Dude, it’s Tuesday!”

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