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About Turin

Heya, pal! So, escort, huh? D’oh! I’m thinkin’ ‘bout them fancy ladies struttin’ round like in “Moulin Rouge!” – all glitz, sequins, and “Come what may!” vibes. I’m a barista, man, slingin’ coffee, but escort? That’s a whole ‘nother gig! Mmm… donuts. Picture this – late night, steamy espresso machine hummin’, and I’m dreamin’ of Satine singin’ her heart out, but nah, escort’s real life, not some sparkly stage.

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First off, I head to my shop on Via San Giovanni. It’s a cozy little spot, you know? Just me, my tools, and a mountain of dull knives. I’m sippin’ my espresso, thinkin’ life’s good. Then, BAM! My buddy Marco bursts in. He’s all outta breath, like he just ran a marathon or somethin’. “Dude, you won’t believe it!” he yells. I’m like, “What now?” Turns out, there’s a festival in town. The Sagra della Castagna! Chestnuts everywhere, man! I’m thinkin’, “Great, I’ll sharpen some knives and then feast!”

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