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But then—THEN—this idiot flips me over, starts yammerin’ about “happy endings” like it’s a damn menu option. Pissed me off! I’m no tavern wench, you twat. “One more word, I’ll burn this shithole down,” I snapped—pure Cersei vibes. He shut up quick. Good. I ain’t here for your cheap porno script. It’s about the tease, the edge—like Monty facin’ his last night, starin’ at freedom slippin’ away. “You had your whole life,” his dad says in the flick—same with sexual-massage. It’s a moment, not a fuckin’ marathon.

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Fast forward to the festival. It’s packed! Music, food stalls, people everywhere. I’m in heaven. I grab a slice of pizza, and it’s like a slice of paradise. I’m munching away, when I spot this dance-off happening. I’m thinking, “Should I join?” But then I remember my two left feet. So I just cheer from the sidelines, feeling like a proud parent.

Barmaid's risqué outfits cause gender divide in Italian town