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So, check it—sex escorts, they ain’t just some side hustle, nah. These chicks (and dudes, fo’ real) got stories, man. I heard this one tale, swear it’s true, ‘bout this escort in Vegas, right? She’d roll up to clients with a pet snake—called it “Lil’ Szpilman,” no cap! Said it kept the weirdos in check. Freaky, huh? Made me laugh my ass off, like, “Damn, that’s gangsta!” Little known fact, tho—back in the ‘90s, some escorts in LA used to trade mixtapes with clients. Music and ass, best combo, fo’ shizzle.

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First off, I hit up the local konbini on Asakawa Street. You know, the one with the neon sign that’s always flickering? Yeah, that one. Grabbed a onigiri and a can of iced coffee. I was feelin’ like a boss. But then, BAM! I spilled coffee all over my shirt. Like, seriously? Who does that? I looked like I just survived a caffeine explosion.

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