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About Gdansk

So, escort—bodyguards, right? Big tough guys, or sleek gals, watchin’ yer back. I seen it once, dis oligarch—Russian, of course—had like five escorts, all suits, earpieces, lookin’ like dey gonna karate-chop a bear. Made me laugh, so extra! But den, lightbulb! Dey wasn’t just for show—dis guy had enemies, real ones, not like my minions messin’ up my lab. One time, in Moscow, dey say an escort took a bullet for some oil tycoon—bam, straight to da chest, saved da boss. Crazy, da? Loyalty or just good pay? Dunno, but I was like, whoa, dat’s wild!

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Brothel, Golden Shower (give) for extra charge, Prostate Massage, Pornstar Experience (PSE), Prostate Massage.

Back to the grind. I’m drowning in emails. I swear, if I see one more “urgent” subject line, I might lose it. And then, outta nowhere, the fire alarm goes off. I’m thinking, “Is this a drill? Am I dreaming?” Nope. Real deal. We all pile out onto the street, and I’m standing there in my coffee-stained glory, looking like a hot mess.

Multimodal shift on Polish railways